


A Little Late On the Blood Work

by Pixiemage



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: :3, ADD/ADHD Tony Stark, Be patient, But Tony doesn't find out about Peter right away, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Gen, Honestly it just makes sense, IT'S WORTH IT, It's not specifically mentioned but it's more of a general character trait, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker has ADHD, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Sorry for people who like to jump right into it, Spider-Man: Homecoming (Movie), iron dad and spider-son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 69,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiemage/pseuds/Pixiemage
Summary: Tony eyed Peter for a moment. He looked nervous, tense. Scared. His knee was bouncing rapidly and Tony caught sight of the kid’s fingers plucking at the edge of his hoodie beneath his folded arms. The mannerisms were familiar, so strangely familiar, though Tony couldn’t quite place why. He pondered it for a half a breath before stepping forward.“So.” Tony stopped in front of Peter. “You're the Spider...ling. Crime-fighting Spider. You're Spider-Boy?”“I’m S…” Peter looked away, exasperated. “Spider-Man.”Confirmation. It wasn’t until Tony was back in his car with Happy that he even paused to ponder the familiarity of the kid in the apartment, the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, the tiny voice wondering why it felt like he had met Peter before. There was something oddly recognizable about him. Speaking with Peter - watching him, listening to him - was gnawing at the back of his mind. It was like there was something he was forgetting, something that was so memorable and yet just out of reach.xXx"Boss, I have the results from Mr. Parker's blood work. I've found a match in the system.""A match to what, FRIDAY?"A name lit up the screen. Tony blanched. God, he needed a drink.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 185
Kudos: 766
Collections: Irondad_and_Spideyson





	1. Pineapples and Padawans

Peter Parker was a babbler. This was something Tony noticed immediately, from the moment he set foot in the kid’s bedroom. Not that he was one to talk. Tony knew full well just how much he could chatter when he really got going. He could name at least five instances in the last week in which Pepper had given him _that look_...the look that clearly told him that he was talking a hell of a lot, not so much as a means to shut him up, but rather to simply make him aware that he was doing it at all. And now, listening to Peter ramble on about YouTube and fake videos and “It’s all done on a computer” as he frantically stumbled his way through excuses to cover up his secret superhero identity, Tony got the feeling he was beginning to understand Pepper’s _look_ a lot more.

Though, Tony mused, with how his own brain tended to work, he also knew that he probably understood Peter Parker’s rapid trains of thought better than most...better than Pepper would have by far.

“–It’s like that video, what is it…” Peter was muttering now, fiddling with Tony’s phone on his desk to turn off the projected video of Spider-Man that had been playing.

“Mhm…” Tony hummed in false agreement. _If he were a teenage vigilante, where would he hide his costume…?_ His eyes trailed up across the ceiling, where a square ceiling tile leading to an attic crawl space was set into the popcorn plaster. He smirked. This was almost too easy. “Yeahyeahyeah...oh, you mean like those UFO’s over Phoenix?” he offered, easily following Peter’s thought process.

Tony reached for what looked like a broken broom handle that was leaning against Peter’s desk. He hefted it in one hand, feeling the weight, and smoothly raised it toward the tile above his head.

“Exactly!” Peter exclaimed.

Just as he said it, the tile gave way under Tony’s prodding, and a bundled red and blue costume came tumbling from the space above attached to a length of rope.

“What have we here?” Tony said dryly.

“No–!”

Almost quicker than Tony could register, Peter had vaulted over his twin bed and yanked the bundle of fabric down from where it hung, flinging it deep into his closet as if doing so would erase the fact that Tony had found it at all.

“Uh...th-that’s, a…” Peter trailed off. He turned where he stood, leaning tensely against the wall of his closet with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His eyes darted rapidly between Tony and the broom handle that Tony had dropped on the floor. A slow breath escaped him, and silence fell between them.

Tony eyed the teen for a moment. He looked nervous, tense. Scared, almost. His knee was bouncing rapidly and Tony caught sight of the kid’s fingers plucking at the edge of his hoodie zipper beneath his folded arms. The mannerisms were familiar, so strangely familiar, though Tony couldn’t quite place why. He pondered it for a half a breath before stepping forward and continuing on toward the point he was trying to make.

“So.” Tony stopped in front of Peter, and the teen looked up at him, focussed now. “You're the....Spider...ling. Crime-fighting Spider...you're Spider-Boy?”

“I’m S…” Peter looked away, exasperated. “Spider- _Man_.”

Confirmation.

And the conversation carried on, to goggles, and abilities, and _he made his own webbing?_ and “You're in dire need of an upgrade” and “Why are you doing this?” and a moment in which a fourteen-year-old boy showed Tony more wisdom than he’d ever had when he first started putting on the suit and stepping out into the world as Iron Man.

_“When you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen...they happen because of you.”_

And before Tony really had time to ponder the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, the tiny voice wondering why it felt as though he had met Peter before, he was talking about Germany and passports and “It might be a little dangerous” and the kid was webbing his hand to a doorknob.

All in all, not the weirdest introduction he’d had with a superhero, but it was certainly memorable.

It wasn’t until Tony was back in his car with Happy and on the road that he even paused to ponder the familiarity of the kid in that apartment. There was something...oddly recognizable, about the whole thing. Chatterbox tendencies aside, speaking with Peter Parker - watching him, listening to him - was gnawing at something in the back of his mind. It was like there was something he was forgetting, something that was so memorable about the entire situation and yet just out of reach.

Perhaps it was the similarities he saw in Peter, similarities to his younger (pre-college) self. A technologically brilliant young man, tinkering in his bedroom, wanting to impress the world even though he wasn’t quite sure how just yet. There was the babbling and fidgeting, of course, but also his proclivity for science and his potential for greatness–

The Audi turned down a street, the sunlight overhead shifting across the interior of the car through the window, casting odd shadows across Tony’s lap and the capsule of pilfered web fluid he was idly fiddling with there.

Of course, unlike himself, Tony doubted Peter would ever be the type to flock to parties and women the moment he hit college. And _also_ unlike Tony he didn’t have a simultaneously overbearing and absent father who was never impressed by a single thing his son did. Technically, as sad as it was, Peter didn’t have a father at all - hadn’t had one since he was about six, if FRIDAY was right - but all the same, any kid was better off not having a father like Howard Stark.

The buzz of his cell phone drew him from his thoughts, and he tugged the chirping device out from his pocket. Natasha was calling. Of course. He pushed the wayward thoughts about the spider-kid from his mind and answered.

“Romanoff, hey. Perfect timing.” He held the tiny white web fluid capsule up at eye level, turning it over slowly between his fingers as he examined it. “I just squared away a new friend for the team. You can thank me later.”

* * *

Tony didn’t run into Peter Parker again until they were already in Germany. There was so much to do and so little time, so he tasked Happy with keeping an eye on the kid. He might have been a little more hands-on if things weren’t under such a time crunch but there wasn’t much he could do about that. So instead of giving Peter a rundown in the hotel that night, Tony met up with both Peter and Happy outside the hotel the next morning.

“Mr. Stark! Hi! Ohmygosh–” Peter was babbling again from the moment he started climbing into the car. Tony stifled an amused smile. “This is the greatest day of my life! The suit - Mr. Stark, this is so crazy. Thank you. Thank you so much! I can’t believe that you–”

“Take a breath, Spiderling,” Tony cut in, raising an eyebrow at the overexcited teen, who was wearing jeans and a hoodie over his new suit and tugging at the red skin-tight collar that Tony could see barely peeking up into view. Peter obeyed Tony’s command, nodding rapidly and taking a few slow breaths to calm himself.

“Right. Sorry, sir.”

“Listen kid,” Tony started. He tugged off his sunglasses and hung them on the front of his shirt, not caring that his black eye was now in plain view of the kid. It had already been there when they had talked in the Parkers’ apartment in Queens, after all. “What do you know about the Sokovia Accords?”

Peter blinked, his mouth falling open as he pondered the question for all of three seconds.

“Uhhh…well–”

“Buckle your seatbelt.”

Peter made a small, startled noise and quickly did as he was told while Tony made a little hand motion to Happy through the car’s open partition. _Let’s get going._ The disgruntled-looking driver didn’t even bother responding as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“So, the Accords,” Tony brought Peter’s attention back to his original question, and Peter nodded a few times.

“Right. Yeah. Sokovia Accords. Um–” His brow furrowed questioningly and he pinned Tony with a pair of curious brown eyes, big innocent doe-eyes that Tony was certain could get the kid anything he wanted if he really tried. He swallowed a smile at the thought. “Wait, that was on the news, right? Somebody blew up that building in Vienna.”

“Spot on, kid.” Tony turned in his seat to face Peter a little better. “I won’t get into too many gritty details, but long story short, some of my teammates were a bit... _stubborn_ when it came to signing the Accords. And after that attack in Vienna happened those same teammates went out of their way to try and protect the guy who did it. They’ve gone AWOL, and now it’s my job to bring ‘em back. With me so far?”

Peter’s frown deepened.

“I think so, yeah.” He opened his mouth to speak, stopped himself, closed it again, and looked away from Tony.

“You look like you’ve got a question.”

“Well–” Peter was tugging at the ends of his hoodie strings now, tying and untying the two ends idly between his fingers.

“C’mon, Webs, spit it out. We’ve only got half an hour until we get to where we’re headed.”

Peter’s gaze flitted back to Tony at the nickname with a sparkle of humor lighting up his expression for the briefest of moments. Then he huffed.

“But...they’re your friends.”

“...what?” Tony stared. Peter seemed to grow mildly nervous because he was babbling again, rambling on at impressively high speeds and articulating with his hands.

“You said you’re going after your teammates, which - I mean - I’d assume you mean the Avengers. I can’t imagine what other teammates you’d be talking about. _Notthatyoucan’tworkwithotherteams, butyouknowwhatImean_. A-And if you’re telling me this, then that’s probably because you don’t just mean _you’re_ going after the Avengers, you mean _we’re_ going after them. So you invited me along to help you bring them in. But, like, that’s the thing. They’re your friends, aren’t they? I mean - I don’t know how friends work for most people, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t go start a fight with my friends if–”

“Shit, Parker, take a breath. I don’t want to have to tell your weirdly hot Aunt May that you passed out from asphyxiation.”

From the driver’s seat, Happy snorted. Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

“What are you laughing at?” he demanded flatly.

“Don’t let me tell you how to do your job, Boss, but maybe you shouldn’t swear around a kid.”

“Do I have to cut your pay?” Tony snarked back, at the same time that Peter spluttered out a protest of: “I’m not a kid!”

Happy raised a hand in surrender before letting it fall back to the steering wheel. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. _‘They’re your friends, aren’t they?_ ’ God, what a question. He knew Peter was inquisitive, they were too alike for that _not_ to be the case, but he hadn’t anticipated the heavier questions to come swinging in so quickly. Maybe being apart from Pepper had made him get used to not having to deal with them.

“Look, _Underoos_ ,” Tony emphasised the nickname, ignoring Peter’s indignant protest. “You’re right. I’d probably call them friends, and that’s saying something, because - as shocking as this may seem - I don’t tend to make many of those. Not any that I really trust, anyhow. With my name you’ve got to be careful about that kind of crap.”

Peter nodded slowly as though Tony was imparting some kind of ancient wisdom. He went on.

“But we’re in the midst of a pretty massive disagreement right now. _Huge_. I’m talking ‘we’ve never been this divided before’ level sh-stuff. And with everything that’s going on, some big guns in the government want to try and take them all out in the not-so-friendly way.” At this, Peter’s eyes widened slightly. The kid had a horrible poker face. Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. “Frankly, I’d wager that _my_ way is probably gonna be more likely to get them back home in one piece than whatever Thaddeus Ross is cooking up.”

“...yeah I can see why.”

“Glad you agree.”

A buzz cut through the momentary silence. Tony pulled out his phone, glancing at the message on his screen from Natasha. From what she said, everything else seemed to be set in place. Once he and the Spider-Kid arrived, all that would be left to do was wait for Capsicle and his merry band of rogues to show up.

Fantastic.

“So…” Peter was fidgeting with his hoodie strings again. Tony cast him a sideways glance. “...who exactly am I gonna be fighting? Like, do you guys have a plan of some kind? Or are you all so good at this that you tend to just - you know - improvise?”

Tony chuckled, a smile growing on his face.

“If you mean in general, it tends to be a bit of both.”

Peter nodded once, his mouth falling open into an “oh”. He reached into his hoodie pocket, looking for something, seemed to not find it, and let his hand fall to tap his knee, the seat, and some of the buttons on the door before finding it way back to his hoodie strings.

“We’ll be going up against Steve Rogers, for one,” Tony finally answered, his eyes following the skittering hand’s movements around the car. God, the kid couldn’t sit still for even two seconds, could he? Maybe it was just nerves. Tony could relate. “Sam Wilson for another. Or you might know them better as Captain America and Falcon–”

“ _What?!_ ”

Peter’s eyes blew wide, and Tony ignored his bambi-in-the-headlights look as he went on.

“–and I’d bet anything that Capsicle’s bringing along his friendly terrorist pal for the ride. Oh, _and_ , not to mention - if the breakout from the Complex is connected, and I’d bet my arc reactor patent that it _is_ , then we’ll be seeing Clint Barton and the lovely Miss Maximoff there as well.”

“ _H-Hawkeye and Scarlet Witch_ …” Peter breathed their names with a note of awe, something Tony had been expecting one hundred percent.

“Got it in one, kid.”

Peter ran both hands through his hair, sinking in his seat and letting out a long, slow breath as he seemed to process what Tony was telling him.

“Ohhhh my god…” He muttered the words quietly to himself, looking a little out of his depths. His knee bounced as he sat there, his eyes fixated on nothing, and for the briefest of moments Tony was once again struck with that odd feeling of distant familiarity just by looking at him. He brushed it aside.

“It might be a bit late to ask at this point, but are you sure you can handle this?” he asked instead, narrowing a querying look at the teen beside him. “I kind of took you as a tough cookie, but you just say the word and I’ll fetch you a juice box and some crackers and send you back to the hotel with Happy once we–”

“No!” Peter shot forward in his seat, his expression morphing immediately into one of desperation. “No no no, I’ve got this! I promise, Mr. Stark. No problem. I’m totally tough.”

Whether he knew it or not, the kid had brought out the bambi eyes again. God help him.

“Alright, alright, fine. I won’t bench you. Not yet anyway.” He hid a laugh behind a cough at the petulant look that crossed Peter’s expression at his words.

“Quick recap, just so we’re clear.” Tony’s voice gained a business-like tone and Peter straightened immediately, his full attention on the man beside him. “Our side is defending the Accords. The other side has gone rogue. We’re trying to bring them in. Frankly, the idea of hurting my teammates isn’t exactly something I’m enjoying, and hopefully this can be settled with words alone, but if it comes to fighting then it’s better than the alternative. I hate to say it, but right now, they’re criminals. They’re wrong but they think they’re right...and that makes them dangerous. Especially Rogers.”

Peter nodded, something sharpening behind his eyes as he did so.

“Wilson - that’s Falcon - you shouldn’t have much trouble with him. He’s ex-military so he’s a tough fighter, but he can rely pretty heavily on the wings he uses, and I’d wager you could use that as a weakness to knock him down a peg. If Barton is there, just - avoid the arrows. He’s got hand-to-hand combat skills too, but I’ve seen how strong you are. I know how quick your reflexes are. If you need to go up against him, it won’t be too hard to keep him down long enough to restrain him. Same goes for Wilson. Now, I don’t know much about the good Captain’s friend outside of the fact that he’s enhanced...so be careful. He’s a loose canon.”

“What about the Scarlet Witch?”

“Wanda?” Tony asked. “Avoid her line of sight, I suppose. Or - no, you know what? Just avoid her. We’ve got other people on our team who are better equipped to handle her.” Namely, Vision. “Don’t try to bite off more than you can chew, kid.”

“And...and Captain America?” Peter asked, soaking up every word with incredible focus. No wonder the kid was a genius.

Tony sighed slowly, looking away for a moment and rubbing a hand across his chest almost as an afterthought. The tightness that had been there from the moment Steve and the others had made their escape had lessened to a degree since then. The tension still remained, a slight throbbing behind his eyes when he thought over how difficult it would be to try and find common ground on the issue of the Accords when Steve and the others refused to listen to reason. _He was trying to keep them safe, dammit_. He had been so close too, so very close to convincing Steve of the Accords’ necessity...until Wanda had come up.

What could Tony possibly have said? What other options were there? If they didn’t sign the Accords, and if the Avengers were henceforth seen as a threat, then Wanda wouldn’t survive the fallout. She wasn’t an American citizen, and unlike most of the other Avengers, so many people were scared of what she could do. They didn’t know her personally, didn’t see that she was a good person. They just saw the power and strength she could wield and perceived her as a threat.

Perhaps Bruce would have been able to relate to her, if he had been here. He wouldn’t have signed the Accords either, not in their current state.

And then there was the kid. Tony cast a fleeting sidelong glance toward the teen, who was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Peter Parker, who had nothing to do with this mess to begin with, and yet Tony had opted to pull him in anyway because things were out of hand and they desperately needed help. He was “enhanced” as well...but he was a minor. He was a _kid_. He wouldn’t need to sign anything because he wasn’t actually involved in this. He wasn’t an Avenger...but Tony’s heart sank as he realized that Ross probably wouldn’t care if the kid was on their official roster or not. Thaddeus Ross had an ulterior agenda in all of this, that fact hadn’t been missed by Tony. If Ross somehow managed to figure out who Spider-Man was (not that he would, because he didn’t have access to the resources or information that Tony did) then Peter would be screwed. With as young as he was, his secret identity was _everything_. It kept him safe. The Accords required that any enhanced individuals who signed it reveal their identity to the UN, submit to a power analysis, and (this only now resurfaced in his mind) wear tracking bracelets for the sake of international safety. And for any enhanced individuals that _didn’t_ sign–

Tony’s brow furrowed. He dragged a hand across his mouth, his mind spiralling.

He still believed the Accords were necessary. He still believed they needed to exist, and that the Avengers - and any other enhanced heroes that came out of the woodwork - required some form of checks and balances. But he also knew that he hadn’t even bothered to suggest amendments from the get-go. He had taken the document at face value, accepted it as is for the time being, and signed it without hesitation. Perhaps he shouldn’t leave this entirely in the hands of the governments of the world. Perhaps he should pull in his legal team and see if there weren’t improvements that could be made on their end, additions or alterations that could help persuade Steve and the others to join their cause...and alterations that could keep people like Wanda and Bruce and - god forbid - _Peter_ from being screwed over by the very establishment that Tony was hoping would protect them.

Tony had signed so they could have a seat at the table...so perhaps he should take advantage of that seat sooner rather than later. He would look into it after this, after today. After everything settled and after everyone was back under one roof. He had pull and influence in high places. He could fix this.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hm?” Tony finally drew out of his thoughts to return his focus to Peter. “Sorry. Cap? That’s what you asked, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, Jesus, don’t call me sir,” Tony made a face. Peter shrugged sheepishly. “But if you want my advice? Go for his legs. Between his fists and his shield, his upper body is his strongest point. If you can knock his feet out from under him, you’re in business.”

“Got it.” Peter’s eyes lit up and he smiled, a flicker of determination lighting up his expression. _How the hell did anyone say no to this kid?_ It cemented Tony’s decision to seek out ways to write his own amendments for the Accords.

“Don’t just go looking to take down the big guns though,” Tony warned, pointing at Peter. “We’ve got more experienced fighters for that. Our goal isn’t to injure or kill. We’re here to detain and retrieve. That’s it. I’m giving you pointers in case you need to defend yourself _if_ our conversation doesn’t go according to plan, but I’m kind of hoping it doesn’t get to that point. Keep your distance and web ‘em up. Is that clear?”

“Totally clear, Mr. Stark. Understood. Got it. I won’t let you down!”

Tony stared blankly at him for a moment.

“...is there any chance I could convince you to just call me Tony? The whole Mister-Polite-And-Friendly routine is great, it really works for you. I’m digging it. But it’s also driving me fucking crazy.”

“Boss,” Happy muttered.

“What?” Tony gestured wildly to Peter. “He’s in high school! He’s probably heard worse things in the hall between classes.”

“I, uh...yeah,” Peter agreed, chuckling awkwardly. “It’s - I mean I’m kind of used to it.”

“See? Kid’s used to it.” Then, in lieu of dignifying Happy with a better response, he turned and clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll be great. And it’s not just you out there. You’ve got Iron Man on your side. Plus Black Widow, War Machine, Vision...hell, we’ve even got some guy in a black cat costume who showed up for the signing of the Accords. Everything’ll be fine.”

* * *

Everything was not fine.

Tony couldn’t even fathom how things had gone so wrong, how it had gotten so bad. Everything had been going well, or as well as things _can_ go when it’s a six-vs-six superhero battle. Then something had shifted. Things got messy. Things got _serious_. People were going to get hurt if it kept up.

And then Peter Parker had been sent crashing through a stack of wooden crates by a currently-giant Scott Lang, and something in Tony’s chest seized up. His breath hitched and before he even registered what he was doing, he was dropping into a dive. He landed mere feet from Peter’s prone form, his mask receding, his pulse pounding in his ears. _God, please be okay…_

Tony crouched slowly, reaching toward the kid lying in front of him, touching his arm.

“Kid, you alright?” he asked, making to turn Peter over so he could check for damages. But he didn’t even get the chance. Peter reacted instantaneously, yelping and flipping over in a panic and shooting out a fist on instinct with his mask half rucked up his face.

“Hey!”

“Woah-!” Tony caught his wrist, not letting go even as the kid kept swinging, trying to fend off some unknown attacker.

“G-Get off me! Get–”

“Same side!” Tony cut in, grabbing the boy’s other wrist and trying to hold of his arms down and out of the way. Shit, the kid really _was_ strong. Even with the Iron Man suit’s help, Peter was doing a damn good job of struggling against Tony’s grip, and he was sure Peter wasn’t even using his full strength with how dazed he was.

“Wh…?” Peter panted, looking confused.

“Guess who?” Tony quipped. “Hi. It’s me.” And the kid finally seemed to register who was holding him down.

“Oh…” Peter let out a chuckling sigh of relief, going lax against the asphalt beneath him. He smiled wearily. “Hey, man.”

Some of the tension melted out of Tony’s chest now that he was sure Peter was going to be okay.

“Yeah, _hey_.” God, the kid was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

“That was scary.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. And then: “You’re done. Alright?”

Peter blinked a few times, still breathing heavily, trying to get his bearings, and it took him a moment to register what Tony was telling him. (Which, Tony figured, was proof enough that Peter had done _more_ than enough to help today.)

“What…?” Peter squinted.

“You did a good job. Stay down.”

“No, I'm good. I'm fine–”

“Stay _down_ ,” Tony insisted, half for Peter’s sake and half for his own sanity. Jesus...this panic? This worry? Yeah, this was maybe half the reason why he didn’t have kids. The other half had a name that began with ‘H’ and rhymed with ‘coward’.

“No, it's good,” Peter was still protesting, trying to wriggle away from where Tony was still holding him down. “I gotta get him back-!”

“You're going home or I'll call Aunt May!” The threat rolled off his tongue before he even registered what he was saying, but there was absolutely _no way_ he was letting Peter push himself further than he was capable. The kid was _his_ responsibility. “You're done!”

And though he heard Peter try to say something else, trying to protest as Tony flew off to help Rhodey chase down the Quinjet that Cap had managed to commandeer, it was mollifying to know that the kid would be okay. He would listen, Tony was sure.

But that had been hours ago. Now Tony sat in a chair in the hallway of some high-end hospital in Germany, his head in his hand and his left arm in a sling and his thoughts running at a mile a minute, waiting to hear if his best friend was going to be okay. Of all the things that he thought might happen today, Rhodey taking a drop from thousands of feet up in a powerless suit hadn’t even been a notion in his mind. Why would it be?

In his pocket, his phone buzzed quietly for his attention. He had ignored it the first two times, but now that it had reached a third, the weary and worn man finally gave in and tugged it from the pocket of his pants. He glanced at the caller ID...and did a double-take.

The name Pepper Potts shone clearly from the phone screen, her face smiling up at him from the photo he had set for her contact. He swallowed thickly. God, he hadn’t spoken to Pepper in...how long? Months? Not directly, anyhow. They were on a break. They weren’t talking, not in that regard. Not romantically. She was still his CEO, and he still had business to attend to through her. Or rather, through people who worked close to her.

But he missed her... _god_ , he missed her...and it was this thought that finally made him answer the call.

“...hey, Pep.”

“ _Tony…_ ”

“To what do I owe this call?” he asked. He tried as best he could to sound friendly, neutral. But he also knew he probably sounded like a wreck. He let his eyes fall closed as Pepper’s familiar tones washed over him, filling a void he hadn’t realized had been empty.

“ _I heard about Rhodey,_ ” she said simply. Tony could hear the emotion in her voice, the concern. “ _How are you doing?_ ”

Tony let out a humorless chuckle.

“To be perfectly frank I feel like hell,” he muttered. “But I reckon I’m doing better than Rhodey is.” Pepper’s breath hitched on the other end of the line, but she didn’t speak. A few seconds of quiet filled the space between them, and something akin to an itch started crawling up his spine, the need to move, to do _something_. He felt antsy and nervous and stressed and _tired_. His knee began to bounce, his nerves coming out in that one fidgeting motion.

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and held his sling-supported arm close to his chest, pacing the small stretch of hallway he was in and sighing into his phone.

“Have you been following the news?”

“ _Since Vienna._ ”

Of course she had.

“I knew you cared,” he teased, but the half-joke fell flat as he said it.

“ _I’ve always cared, Tony. You know that. Maybe I care too much. You know that’s why I had to–_ ”

“I know,” Tony cut her off, his jaw tightening. “I know why you…”

It was why she left. The stress of it all, the strain of watching Tony almost kill himself as Iron Man, over and over and over - the Ten Rings and Obadiah, then Ivan Vanko and Justin Hammer, then the attack on New York, then the Mandarin...then missions with the Avengers, mission after mission after mission, all leading up to Ultron and Sokovia - it was a wonder she had stayed with him as long as she had. He was a handful and he knew it. But he was trying to change things, now. He wanted to take a step back and let the others take over. He would never stop being Iron Man, of that he was _very_ aware, but he could ease up on the reins.

Tony scuffed his toe against the linoleum, making a full one-eighty and continuing his pacing path.

“I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but - things have gone completely to hell. Everything is spiralling out of control, and it’s getting harder and harder to hold everything together. Between Steve and Ross and - and _Rhodey_ –” He came to a halting stop beside the wall and let his forehead fall against it with a dull _thunk_. “ _Shit_.”

“ _Tony, breathe. Please._ ”

“...I need you.” He didn’t mean for it to come out as desperate as it did.

“ _Tony–_ ”

“I’m not asking for a rewind,” he added quickly, his eyes squeezing shut where he was still leaning his head against the wall. “I’m not. I don’t - right now, I’m not looking for Pepper Potts, the romantic. I need Pepper Potts, CEO. I need–”

“ _You need help._ ”

“I need help,” Tony agreed. Pepper fell silent for a moment. “Please?”

“ _...What do you need?_ ”

Tony managed a smile. He stepped away from the wall and returned to his seat, dropping into it with a low sigh.

“At the moment? I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Rhodey’s injured, Steve is AWOL. Ross took half of the Avengers into custody and I haven’t heard where they were sent just yet. I haven’t had a chance to check in with the kid. I’m not sure if I can trust _Miss_ _Romanoff_ at the moment…” He bit out her name. “...I’m flying blind here, Pep.”

That’s when he remembered. The kid. Peter. When they’d talked in the car on their way to the airport, there was something he had promised himself he would do after this all blew over. Wasn’t there?

“ _What kid?_ ”

Tony blinked. He recognized something in Pepper’s tone, something almost accusatory and just a dash disappointed, and it took him longer than it should have to realize what conclusion she had come to.

“Oh - _Jesus_ , Pepper, not _my_ kid,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Different kid. Spider-Man. He gave us a hand here in Germany. He’s just...a bit on the young side.” Tony sat forward in his seat, quickly cutting off any questions he knew Pepper wanted to ask. “Look, nevermind that for now. Do you have access to a copy of the Sokovia Accords?”

Pepper sighed at him through the phone speaker, but she went along with his subject change without question.

“ _I don’t believe I do. Why?_ ”

“I’ll send you a copy.” Tony pulled his phone away from his ear and set it to speaker, holding it face up on his palm and making a sharp motion with his hand that sent the display on his screen up into the air in front of him. “FRIDAY, pull up the Sokovia Accords.” The document in question came to life in front of him, and Tony swiped through the hologram to ensure that it was the full document. Satisfied, he said: “Alright. Send a full copy to Miss Potts, please. Her secondary email if you could. Or better yet - send it direct, server to server. We want this under the radar, just in case.”

“ _Right away, boss._ ”

“ _Tony, what’s this about?_ ”

“I need you to pull together the legal team,” Tony explained. He cast a furtive glance down the hall to ensure he was alone. “I want to take a closer look at this thing to make sure it’s humane. I signed it the second I was done reading it the first time around, and I still believe I made the right choice, but I’m beginning to think it might need some...amendments.”

“ _What kind of amendments?_ ”

“The kind relating to enhanced individuals and their rights as human beings.”

There was quiet, for a moment. Tony could hear the tapping of a keyboard, the click of a mouse. Pepper must have received the document from FRIDAY.

“ _...should I be worried about the legality of this?_ ”

“Absolutely not,” Tony assured her. “Proposing amendments is well within our legal rights. We’ll use the proper channels, do this the right way. I don’t want any hiccups. I’m more concerned about Ross catching wind of this before we can make any headway. I don’t trust him.”

“ _Will you be involved in writing up these amendments, or is it all me? I’m happy to help either way, but if that’s the case, I’ll need a little more information than this to make sure–_ ”

“I’ll be back soon. I’m one hundred percent on board with this. We’ll work on it together. But I want it started sooner rather than later, and - clearly I can’t do that right now.”

“ _Alright. I can work with that._ ”

“I know you can.” Tony smiled softly to himself, making the hologram before him disappear with a quick hand movement. He took the call off speaker and held the phone back up to his ear again. “Thanks Pepper. You’re a lifesaver. An absolute goddess.”

“ _I would say that you’re exaggerating, but I know full well you wouldn’t listen to me._ ”

“When do I ever?”

Pepper’s laughter filled Tony’s ears, and some of the tightness in his chest lessened at the sound. His smile grew.

“ _I’ll let you get back to your team. Let me know how everything goes with Rhodey, and I’ll start contacting people in legal._ ”

“I’ll make sure FRIDAY gives you updates,” Tony promised.

It was a few minutes after the call when Tony finally stood from his chair, shoving his one good hand in his pocket as he went to check in on his best friend.

* * *

A lot had happened in the past week, and it seemed like the worst of it had been jam-packed into the last twenty-four hours. It was dark by the time Tony arrived back in Berlin from Siberia, feeling about as much of a wreck as he was sure he looked. His nose had long since stopped bleeding, as had the cuts littered across his face, but he hadn’t had the chance to clean himself up. His arm, the one he had injured in Germany, was as sore as before, but in comparison to everything else it didn’t bother him much. The bruises on his chest from where Steve had struck him with his shield ached with a consistent, dull pain, one that was just sharp enough to make him wince if he moved too quickly or turned just the wrong way. It was going to take weeks for the bruises to heal, he knew.

Not that it mattered. Bloody noses and bruised ribs were the least of his worries right now.

Tony eased himself into the bathroom of the medical center, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath when his chest protested his movements. _Shit_. He braced himself on the edge of the sink, forcing himself to level his breathing. This whole situation was a goddamn disaster.

But he had to carry on. He had things to do, people to see, accords to amend. Screw Steve Rogers and whatever broken trust he had left Tony with at that damned bunker.

Half-fuming and utterly failing to force the thoughts away (and the image in his head, the scene in his mind that kept playing over and over on a loop, of a familiar street and a crashed car–)

No.

With a slow, level breath, Tony turned on the faucet in front of him and began to soak the washcloth he had managed to pilfer from a supply closet down the hall. He cleaned the blood away, erasing some of the evidence of what had happened today. Honestly, it looked far worse than it actually was. With the blood and grime from the fight washed away, Tony could only see a few small cuts across his forehead and a deeper one along the left side of his face, just above his temple. It stung to touch, dirt in the wound making it itch. Perhaps he ought to tend to his wounds properly before trying to visit the Spiderling.

That’s where he was headed next, after all. Peter was still in Germany, staying one last night at the hotel before Tony returned him home to his aunt. It didn’t seem right to just let the kid go without checking in first. Tony hadn’t spoken to him much after Rhodey had been shot down. He’d muttered out quick instructions to go back to the car, sent a message to Happy instructing him to return Peter to the hotel, and then–

...and then. And then everything else had happened. The hospital, The Raft, the bunker, the fight. Struggling his way out of the half-dead Iron Man suit so he could get to his phone. Finding no signal, cursing the cold weather, and finally managing to connect FRIDAY to the helicopter that had brought him here so he could land it remotely and use it to get home.

What a mess.

An hour later found Tony leaving the medical center behind, the wound at his temple freshly bandaged, having spoken with Rhodey before walking out the door. Rhodey would be moved to the Avengers Compound in the next day or two, once a doctor could deem it safe enough for him to travel. Tony would visit him constantly, of course. He already had plans in mind for bracers he was going to build so his friend could walk again. If he was able to build a weaponized metal suit in the middle of the desert out of scraps and bits of stolen Stark weapons, then paralysis didn’t stand a chance.

Tony climbed swiftly into his car, already pulling up a playlist on his phone to connect to his car speakers.

“FRIDAY, text Happy. Let him know I’m on my way.”

“Yes, boss.”

The opening chords of _Highway to Hell_ filled the space within the car, and Tony peeled out of the parking lot as the percussion kicked in. It was a welcome distraction. It wasn’t that long of a drive back to the hotel, so it was easy to avoid thinking about less savory subjects in that time.

Nothing like the amazing riffs of Angus Young to keep your mind on better things.

When all was said and done, by the time Tony set foot in the hotel, it was well past ten. Happy had sent him the room information the day before. It wasn’t difficult to find the pair of doors he was searching for. With one last check on his phone to see which room was which, he held the transparent device up to the electronic keycard reader, and the door unlocked. When he pushed the door open he had to do a double-take.

Peter was sitting in the front room of the suite, in full view of the door. He had his phone in one hand and a bag of gummy bears in the other...which wouldn’t have been so strange if Peter weren’t sitting on the ceiling.

Peter’s head snapped toward the door the moment it opened, his eyes flying wide. It was only now that Tony could see the black eye the kid was sporting on the other side of his face.

“M-Mr. Stark!” he yelped, and before Tony even had time to respond, the kid dropped to the floor with a quick flip, landing on his feet with the bag of gummy bears clutched to his chest. “Uh, hi! Hi, I didn’t - um. Did you - did you say you were gonna come by? I don’t - I mean - sorry if I forgot, I just–”

“Oxygen, Underoos. You need it.”

Peter’s mouth hung open for a split second before snapping shut with a quiet _click_. Tony chuckled.

“I told Happy I was on my way over, but I get the feeling that message wasn’t passed along,” he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Peter shook his head.

“N-No, he didn’t – I mean I don’t _think_ he did.” The kid was fidgeting on the spot, glancing toward the phone he still held in his hand. Nerves.

“Sit down, relax kid. I don’t bite.” Tony finally stepped away from the door and strolled past Peter to the bed behind him. He sat on the edge and winced when the movement sent a jolt of pain across his chest. _Shit_. He’d have to get that checked out when he got back to the compound. “Give me a rundown.”

Peter blinked owlishly at him from where he was still standing in the middle of the room. Tony rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, Parker, _sit_. Talk to me. I didn’t get the chance to check on you before I left the airport, and I need to make sure you’re alright before I ship you off to your aunt.”

“I’m fine!” Peter said immediately, finally dropping onto the bed next to Tony. He pulled his legs up beneath him like a pretzel and tossed his now-locked phone aside in favor of digging a gummy bear out of the bag still clutched in his hand. “Honestly, all good.”

“A _giant_ threw you into a stack of crates,” Tony told him flatly. “And maybe my eyes deceived me, but I’m fairly certain I saw _Rogers_ drop a boarding bridge on top of you.”

“I-I know,” Peter stammered, wincing. He popped the gummy bear into his mouth and stared down into his lap while he chewed. Tony waited. After a moment, the kid cast a fleeting look up at his mentor. “I...uh. I have enhanced healing.”

Tony blinked. Huh. Honestly, that shouldn’t have surprised him, knowing Steve Rogers...but all the same, he hadn’t really thought about the extent of Peter’s abilities.

“Seriously.”

“Y-Yeah, I...um.” Peter shrugged, plucking apart a few gummies that had stuck together in the bag. He was still avoiding Tony’s watching gaze. “I mean, my back hurt a lot earlier from when I got thrown into those boxes, but there’s just a bit of bruising now. It’ll be gone by tomorrow night. Kinda lucky I’ve got that, actually, or Aunt May would probably be more suspicious. And Ned too. And my teachers–”

“What exactly can you do?” Tony asked. He glanced over Peter’s arms and neck and face, the only bare skin he could see, and beyond the already-fading bruise surrounding Peter’s right eye, Tony didn’t see a single mark on him.

“–w...hat?” Peter finally looked at him.

“Your abilities,” Tony specified. “What exactly can you do? Specifically?”

“Spider stuff, mostly,” Peter shrugged. “I can stick to walls, I can hear and see things from super far away - I think I mentioned that before, right? With my senses, and the goggles. The whole–”

“The ‘dialed up to eleven’ thing,” Tony finished for him.

“R-Right.” Peter nodded once. He offered half a shrug before continuing. “My reflexes are insane, and I’m crazy strong. But - w-well, you...y-you know that. Obviously.”

“I’d assumed,” Tony smiled. He reached over and stole a gummy bear from Peter’s bag, raising a challenging eyebrow at the indignant look Peter threw his way. “Anything else?”

“I...don’t like mint much anymore?” Peter shrugged. “So that’s weird. Oh, and I’ve got this - like–” the kid made a face, squinting a bit, thinking. “–this sixth sense, sort of. Like - like instinct. Like, when danger’s coming, this little feeling buzzes in the back of my head to warn me before it happens.”

“So you’re psychic.”

“Not–” Peter made a face. “No. Not psychic. I wish.”

“You can call it being psychic to make it sound cooler,” Tony smirked. But Peter shook his head, bouncing slightly where he sat on the bed.

“Nah, I already call it my Spidey-sense. It fits.”

“...Spidey-sense,” Tony repeated, shooting Peter an incredulous look. “ _That’s_ what you’re going with?”

“I-It’s catchy, okay?” the kid defended himself, going a little pink.

“So is the flu.”

“That’s _catching_ , not _catchy_ –”

“You’re branding yourself, kid, and you went with _Spidey-sense._ Not even Spi- _der_.”

“You can’t talk! You go by _Iron_ Man, Mr. Stark, and we _both_ know that’s entirely inaccurate.” He tried to glare at Tony, but it came across as an adorable pout. Tony laughed.

“Okay, okay!” he held up his hands placatingly. “Fair enough. I won’t tell you how to label your gimmicks.”

“Powers.”

“Same thing.”

Peter huffed bitterly and stuffed a few more gummies in his mouth to avoid talking.

“...so is that it?” Tony prodded. “Or did the thing that gave you your powers–”

“Radioactive spider bite.”

“–give you more than you–” Tony stopped short, registering what Peter had mumbled around the gummy bears in his mouth. “Wait, hold up. Rewind for a second. You got bitten by a radioactive spider?”

Peter nodded and swallowed.

“Or something like that. More like a ‘genetically modified spider’, but radioactive is probably accurate too. See, I was on a field trip with my school at Oscorp–” (If Tony happened to make a face at the mention of his competitor, Peter didn’t comment on it) “–and they had a lab dedicated to these enhanced spiders, right? And like - I’m usually more into physics and engineering than _bio_ engineering, but it looked pretty neat. So my friend Ned and I went to check it out, and one of my classmates sort of...I mean, he. Um. Tripped, I guess?” Peter stammered. “A-Anyway, Flash...uh...bumped into me, and Ned and I kind of collided with the spider containment units, and...well.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see it or feel it happen exactly, but I was horribly sick that night, and I found the bite mark the next day. It wasn’t too hard to figure out it was a spider bite. I sorta - put two and two together, after that.”

Tony stared. Then he dragged a hand over his face, chuckling in quiet disbelief. Peter eyed him warily.

“What?”

“Only you, kid,” Tony grinned, shaking his head. Then, with a slowly dawning realization: “...you were _sick_?”

“Uh, yeah. The whole weekend after the trip.” Peter ran a hand through his hair a few times, making the dark curls stick up at odd angles. “I-I had a crazy high fever, or so Aunt May told me. She was the one who took care of me until I felt better. It was at like - 105º at the highest, I think? But - but uh, I don’t remember it all. I was, like, totally delirious by dinner time. I couldn’t even really eat because I kept throwing up. Everything was too loud and too bright and my head was _pounding_ \- it sucked.”

A hundred and five? Tony stared at Peter as though he was absolutely insane. The kid could have _died_. Messing around with untested bio-experiments was no joke. There was no telling what a different spider bite could have done to him. Peter was insanely lucky to have gained enhanced abilities from the accident rather than some kind of incurable illness. (Momentarily, his mind drifted back to the palladium poisoning he had dealt with five years prior.)

Eyeing the kid warily, he asked:

“Have you ever had tests done? Professionally.”

“Wha–? _No!_ Are you _insane_?!” Peter exclaimed. His voice had hitched up in pitch and his eyes were wide and panicked. “I don’t want to be a lab rat! Who in the world could I have gone to that wouldn’t have started asking questions???”

“Would you like to?” Tony offered.

“Like to...what?” Peter repeated faintly, looking confused.

“Would you like me to run some tests?” he repeated. He turned on the bed to face Peter more squarely, withholding a wince when his chest protested his movements and meeting the kid’s eyes. “You’ve gained some pretty insane abilities from this thing. But I’m sure you’re also aware that bioengineering can be a tricky thing. If you’re okay with it, I’d feel a little better if you let me run a few tests to make sure there aren’t any negative side effects that could crop up later.”

“You…” Peter’s wide eyes turned hopeful. “...y-you’d do that? _Really_?”

“Of course, kid.” Tony shrugged, scratching at a spot along his jawline. “Granted, I’m no Bruce Banner when it comes to genetics, but I can at least have FRIDAY run what tests she can in my lab.”

“ _Yes_. Yes, please Mr. Stark, I’d appreciate it. That would be - just–” Peter was grinning now, gratitude and excitement bubbling up from somewhere beneath the awkward nervousness that Tony had assumed was the kid’s default setting. He tilted his head slightly, watching this different side of Peter begin to show through. It was similar to the quips and comments he had heard from Peter over the comms at the airport, but...more natural.

“See, I tried running tests in the lab at my school, but - I mean - you can imagine how little that helped. We don’t exactly have high end thermal cyclers or DNA probes lying around, heh. I _did_ take a look at my fingertips under a microscope once, and - _man–_ ” Peter dropped the bag of gummy bears so he could use both hands to mime his brain exploding, complete with a sound effect. “I mean, I should have expected setules from the beginning, right? That’s how spiders stick to things to begin with, but seeing it up close - I mean - holy shit, Mr. Stark, it’s _insane_! If I was looking for physical proof that I was affected by that spider bite, that was it.”

The kid was more expressive and open than Tony had ever seen him. His hands were moving emphatically with his words, his eyes alight, and the excitement of being able to share even a small fraction of his research was palpable. He was in his element, clearly, and it reminded Tony of late nights in the lab, of chattering to Pepper when she came down to fetch him for bed, of rattling on about the little changes he had made to a power source or a repulsor or a piece of coding that had turned his entire project upside down. It was familiar, and Tony couldn’t help but smile softly at the kid’s ramblings.

“–and I did a lot of research before even _attempting_ to mix the web fluid up in the back of the lab, but I still had to be careful. I didn’t want Mr. Cobbwell figuring out what I was making. I mean, yeah, he - he probably wouldn’t mind me doing a personal project in the back, not really, probably. Maybe. B-But if he found out what it _was,_ the secret would be out, you know? And I don’t want that.”

“Do I have to build you a watch that will remind you to breathe when you’re talking?” Tony joked, still having been listening intently to Peter’s words. At the kid’s goldfish reaction and red-faced stammered protests, Tony chuckled. “Tell you what. We can chit-chat about your web fluid the next time I update your suit. But for now, are you hungry? I’m hungry. Do you like pizza?”

“O-Of course I do.” Peter blinked at the non-sequitur but followed the conversation shift easily.

“Toppings?”

“Uhhh...anything?” he shrugged. “Meat lovers is always good.”

“Alright, I’m ordering pizza. You can talk about your mini lab experiments while we eat.”

Tony carefully pushed himself to his feet, wincing and refraining from wrapping an arm around his chest. He thankfully was able to restrain from a verbal reaction.

“...h-hey, are you alright?”

Tony glanced over at Peter (and his sudden puppy dog eyes) while he fished out his phone.

“Peachy,” he muttered. “A certain _someone_ just got a little _bashy_ with his shield today. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh…”

He made to head into the next room, but Peter called out again before he could get to the door.

“Oh! Um. Could you order...uh...a few larges, for me? Please?” At Tony’s silent stare, Peter added: “I-I-I can pay for it, Mr. Stark. I’ve got money. I’m used to buying a lot of food now anyway, since Oscorp. My metabolism burns through it too fast.”

Tony huffed out a quiet chuckle and shook his head.

“I’m buying,” he insisted, leaving no room for argument. “What, three, four pizzas then? Just for you?”

That sounded about right, didn’t it? Based on how much food Steve Rogers could consume, it seemed accurate.

“Y-Yes, please.”

“Got it.”

He stepped out of the room to make a few calls.

The kid hadn’t been lying when he said he could eat a ton. It didn’t take long after the pizzas arrived for Peter to polish off two of the four boxes sitting on the bed, while Tony was still on his third slice. Damn, the kid was a black hole.

When he had first gone to find Peter Parker in New York, before he had actually met him, Tony would never have assumed he would end the week munching on pizzas in the kid’s hotel room in Germany, talking science between bites and listening to him excitedly recap the events at the airport. At some point, Peter had admitted that he had been recording part of a video diary when Tony first arrived, and Tony immediately encouraged him to take his phone back out to film part of their conversation. Why not? Peter had said he wasn’t sharing it with anyone, so why not indulge the kid?

_“It was absolutely insane, Mr. Stark! I came flying in like, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’ and I totally tackled the one guy, and then the dude with the metal arm tried to punch me, like, p-chah! But I caught his hand, and like - Mr. Stark - his arm is so cool! I wanted to ask him how it works and what it’s made of, but I got blasted after that and he kinda didn’t seem like a talker.”_

_“Do you normally try to be buddy-buddy with the bad guys?”_

_“Well...I mean. They weren’t really bad guys. Right?”_

_A pointed look arose from Tony. Peter, not quite catching it, carried on._

_“Anyway! So I webbed up the engine of the Falcon guy’s wings…”_

At some point in the midst of their snacking, Happy had come in, ready to tell Peter off for being too loud. Instead he had done a double-take when he spotted Tony sitting beside the kid on the bed with his jacket off and pizza in hand, and a smirk on his face beneath a raised eyebrow. (Happy had left them in silent irritation after that, and both Tony and Peter had laughed a little for the camera while Tony made some flippant comment to Happy’s retreating back about ‘Do you want a slice of pizza? We’ve got plenty!’)

Maybe he was soft for the kid. Pepper had pointed that out when he had called her, right after hanging up with the pizza place.

“ _What made you want to write up amendments for the Accords in the first place?_ ” she had asked.

“Wanda, for one,” Tony had told her. “And Bruce. And after talking to the kid, I sort of realized that...well, it wouldn’t just be the Avengers that this affected in the long run. If the Sokovia Accords are going to be put in place, I want to make sure there’s no chance it could be used against people who don’t deserve it.”

“ _The kid, meaning Spider-Man, right?_ ”

“Yeah, him.” Tony had run a hand through his hair, pacing slowly in the sitting room of Peter’s hotel suite. “He’s too pure for this world, honestly. Kid’s a genius, Pep, and he’s got these _powers_ , and he just wants to use them to help people. That’s it. There’s no personal gain here, _none_ , and I don’t see that often enough. He’s got real heart.”

“ _You really care about this kid, don’t you?_ ”

And Tony had stopped mid-pace, had faltered for a moment. He’d stared at the empty metal case on the coffee table, the metal case that had held the brand new suit that Tony had built for the kid from scratch. He had already been working on something for Spider-Man after he had first appeared, a side project really, but he had also taken the time to alter it after speaking with Peter in person. He had adjusted the eye lenses, knowing now about the kid’s heightened senses and the goggles he had made for himself. He had stolen a cartridge of web fluid to finish building custom web-shooters. He had boosted some of the safety features, had stashed some of the more advanced settings behind a learning-based Training Wheels Protocol, had added a tracker so he could keep an eye on the kid in case he needed help. He had done all of that after having _just met_ Peter Parker.

Tony huffed out a small laugh.

“I guess so,” he agreed. “I didn’t want to let myself get attached, but I can’t help it. The kid needs a mentor, someone to keep an eye on him so he’s not alone out there fighting crime in the streets of New York. His aunt can’t do that for him. And hell, he’s _smart_ , Pepper. The things he’s built, as young as he is - it’s _extraordinary_. I wouldn’t mind extending him an internship offer for Stark Industries once he’s done with high school.”

“ _High school?? Tony, how old is he?_ ”

Shit. Busted.

“I’m not sharing his identity over the phone,” Tony casually deflected the question. “But you understand why I need to do this, right?”

“ _Why you need to do what? Amend the Accords, or take Spider-Man under your wing_?”

“...maybe both?”

Tony was fully aware of Peter’s heightened senses. He knew the kid could hear through walls. He had hoped Peter would be respectful enough not to snoop in on his call, but when he returned to the front room, it was clear Peter had heard some of what had been said. His face was slightly pink and he had this absolutely stunned look on his face.

“How much did you hear?” Tony cut right to the chase, pocketing his hands and his phone.

“N-Nothing!”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“You can’t tell a lie for _shit_ , kid.”

Peter’s shoulders sagged.

“S-Sorry…” He was fiddling with his phone, a text conversation open on the screen. “I didn’t mean to listen. It’s just - it’s hard to turn off, you know? I...I heard my name? Or, I mean, S-Spider-Man’s name.”

“Your name,” Tony nodded. Iron Man was his name as much as Tony Stark. The same could be said for Peter.

“R-Right.” Peter nodded sharply, then glanced from his phone back up to Tony with questioning eyes. “Did you mean what you said? About the internship?”

“Maybe.” Tony tilted his head slightly, eyeing the kid. “Why? Are you interested?”

If possible, Peter’s eyes widened further.

“I - well y-yes, absolutely. I’d be _insane_ not to be.” He scrambled across the bed, perching on the balls of his feet at its edge, practically buzzing with excitement. “It’s - I mean, _anyone_ going into the scientific field would be - they’d be freaking _ecstatic_ to be able to put that on their resume! Stark Industries is a big name company, a-a-and it’d be an... _amazing_ , opportunity to have–”

“Plus the perk of being able to work with me, of course,” Tony smirked.

“–yeah, and being able to work with–” Tony could see the moment Peter’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, his jaw dropping as he registered the implications of what Tony was saying. He stared at Tony in awe. “...with _you?_ ” he breathed. “You mean...you mean _directly_ , or…?”

“Depending on how things go,” Tony shrugged. He strolled around the edge of the room, staying within Peter’s line of sight and watching his reactions. “Technically you’ll be reporting directly to me already because of your...extracurricular activities.” He mimed shooting a web, mimicking the trigger motion he’d seen Peter use multiple times. “Or to Happy. Maybe. Like I said...it depends.”

“Hoooly shit…” Peter fell back from his perched position, landing on his butt and dragging both hands through his hair.

“Watch your mouth, Parker.”

“Right, right…” The words left Peter on a breath, sounding utterly distracted, and Tony was fairly certain the kid hadn’t even registered Tony’s half-warning.

“You’ve got to earn it first, Peter,” Tony cut in with an amused smirk. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. At the moment you’re still - what would you call it, my trainee? Protege? Padawan?”

That last one made Peter’s attention snap back to Tony in a heartbeat, a sparkle in his eyes and a surprised chuckle leaving him as he said:

“I _knew_ you knew Star Wars!”

“What, do you think I live under a rock?” Tony asked, incredulous. “Of course I know Star Wars! How the hell else did you think I knew what you meant when you referenced AT-AT’s and Hoth to take down Mr. Shrink-n-Grow?”

“You are so... _cool_.” Peter said it on a breath with an air of awe in his words, grinning like Christmas had come early. Tony rolled his eyes.

“I knew that already. Keep up, kid.”

The subject of the internship faded into the background as their conversation followed the path down which AT-AT’s and Ant Man led them. It wasn’t forgotten, Tony knew, even as the pizza arrived and Peter regalled - in vibrant enthusiasm - the one-on-one scuffle he’d had with Steve Rogers. (Tony tried to keep up an intrigued demeanor even as the pain of his once-friend’s betrayal spiked in his chest.) Tony was well aware that, now that Peter knew gaining an internship at Stark Industries was a possibility, the kid would never forget about it. Which - he realized - could be a good thing. Sure, Peter might get a little too eager and might bug him about it again sometime down the line, but this could also be an opportunity for the kid to push himself to excel, to encourage him to see just how far he could go. Tony was almost surprised to find that he couldn’t wait to see Peter try.

Now though, most of the pizza was eaten and Peter had gone quiet a while ago. Tony had been messaging Natasha for the past few minutes, scheduling a day this week to give her a debriefing on what had happened with Steve and his Winter Soldier friend, asking about Rhodey...telling her to get in touch with Pepper about the Accords. The more people they had backing these amendments, the better.

“Hey, Pete, did you talk to your aunt about–”

Tony trailed off as he caught sight of Peter, who had fallen asleep fully clothed on his side of the bed, his phone half-falling out of his hand in his lap with a messaging screen still lighting up its surface. A soft smile slowly came to life on Tony’s face. Geez...the kid must’ve worn himself out today. With the airport fiasco ending up being a much bigger fight than Tony had ever foreseen, it didn’t surprise him that Peter would need a rest. It was past midnight at this point anyhow. Easing himself up off the bed (and wincing and clenching his jaw because, shit, his ribs were still in agony), Tony quietly circled around to the other side. He gathered up all of Peter’s pizza boxes from where they were scattered atop the comforter and dropped them in a neat pile on the chair in the corner of the room, then gently plucked Peter’s phone from where it sat loose in his grip. Just as Tony was about to lock it and set it aside, his own name on the glowing screen caught his attention. Curiosity got the best of him and he glanced at the most recent messages Peter had been exchanging with somebody called “Ned”.

Ned Skywalker  
  
**Yesterday** 10:15 PM  
  
**Peter:** NED HOLY SHIT  
  
**Ned:** What???  
  
**Peter:** You're never gonna believe this  
  
**Peter:** So I'm at that Stark Internship thing right, and it's pretty awesome ngl  
  
**Ned:** Oh dude, I know, I'm still majorly jealous  
  
**Peter:** Shush  
  
**Peter:** No  
  
**Peter:** Not that  
  
**Peter:** Well kind of that but shut up, listen to me man  
  
**Peter:** Ned, Tony FREAKING Stark just showed up in my hotel room and he's ordering us pizza  
  
**Ned:**...wait wHAT  
  
**Peter:** I KNOW I KNOW IT'S SO WEIRD  
  
**Ned:** What kind of pizza does he like????  
  
**Ned:** Is it super fancy pizza?  
  
**Ned:** It totally is isn't it  
  
**Ned:** Wait wait ask him if he's a pineapple-on-pizza guy  
  
**Ned:** Peter?  
  
**Ned:** Peter don't leave me hanging like that  
  
**Ned:** Peter, man, you're killing me  
  
**Today** 12:37 AM  
  
**Peter:** Hi man, sorry, Mr. Stark and I were talking about stuff  
  
**Peter:** Which is still way crazy to even think about  
  
**Ned:** It's all good  
  
**Ned:** Did you ask him about the pineapple thing  
  
**Peter:** No??? That's - no, I'm not asking him that, we just met like two days ago  
  
**Ned:** It's a fair question dude. I just wanna know where he stands in this great world-wide debate  
  
**Peter:** I mean, yeah, now I'm curious too (thanks for that) but man I'm not asking him when it's almost 1am and we're snacking on meat lover's  
  
**Ned:** That's the perfect time, what are you talking about?????  
  
**Ned:** I forgot about the time difference though oops  
  
**Ned:** When are you gonna be home tomorrow?  
  
**Ned:** Peter?  
  


Tony snorted out a quiet laugh. He liked this ‘Ned’ kid already. Glancing toward the quietly-snoozing Peter, he tapped out a brief reply on the kid’s phone.

**Peter:** Parker is asleep, but to answer your question, I should be dropping him off around dinner time.  
  
**Peter:** Also, pineapple on pizza is one of the world’s rare treasures, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. -T.S.  
  


Once he had set the chat to remain muted for at least the next hour, Tony locked the screen and set the phone on the bedside table. A stray charging cord was draped across its surface, so he also took a second to plug it in before stepping away. He looked around. There was a decorative blanket draped over the back of an orange armchair next to the desk, and without really thinking about it, Tony scooped it up and brought it back to the bed, carefully draping it over the sleeping teen.

Peter scrunched up his nose in his sleep, burying his face a little deeper in the pillow beneath his head, his black eye completely hidden from view. For a moment, Tony couldn’t look away.

The kid looked so young. Well, fourteen _was_ young, of course...but like this, curled up under a blanket without all the hyperactive energy he seemed to exude in endless amounts when he was awake, Tony had a really hard time picturing _this_ Peter as the red-clad banter-spewing superhero that had been fighting by his side at the airport.

All at once, that niggling little feeling whispered at the back of his mind again, the one urging him to look closer, to think, to _see_. It was the same one that tugged at some kind of cord in his chest, hinting at familiarity or déjà vu that he couldn’t quite place. But he was far too tired to even touch on such a fleeting feeling right now. With a quiet sigh, Tony brushed the thought aside, opting instead to stroll into the other room. He regretted, for a moment, that he hadn’t reserved a room for himself along with Peter and Happy, but he had slept in worse places than a couch. There was another blanket folded neatly on a shelf in the sitting room, and after toeing off his shoes and rearranging the pillows, he gingerly settled himself in for a much needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing for the MCU, and it's been pretty fun learning how to write Tony, Peter, and other members of the MASSIVE cast of characters this universe contains. Here's hoping you guys enjoy it as much as I have been! I have a few other Iron Dad and Spider-Son stories on the agenda, one of which I hope to finish soon since it's a (rather long, oops) one shot. The title is a work in progress, so let me know if you think something better would word!
> 
> I'm also considering "Coincidental Impossibilities", "Statistical Improbability", "Strangely Familiar", and "The Webs We Weave"...though I think that last one might go to a DIFFERENT Iron Dad fic I might write later on. ;)
> 
> Anyway! Hope you enjoyed what I've written so far, and comments are always welcome and encouraged! It lets me know how people actually feel the story is going!
> 
> ~ Pixie


	2. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plane ride, a lab visit, and the treatment of injuries Peter probably should have been honest about from the beginning...and deflecting on the part of Tony, but really, what else was to be expected?  
> (The kid was gonna make him go gray prematurely, Tony just knew it, and they’d only known each other for a few days.)

“Parker. Kid. C’mon, wake up. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Peter curled up his nose at the voice intruding on his oh-so-comfortable sleep. It felt _far_ too early to be waking up already, honestly. He buried himself a little deeper in his pillow and clutched at the blanket he was cuddled beneath, pulling at it in a drowsy and feeble attempt to block out some of the sunlight in the room.

“Mmphngh.”

“I speak like, five languages, but gibberish isn’t one of them. Up and at ‘em - Jesus, I sound like my mom.” Peter could hear the distant sound of metal latches being undone. “Where’d you leave that suit, kid?”

Suit…? What suit?

“Underoos. I swear to god, Happy’s gonna have a conniption if we don’t get out of here and down to breakfast in the next half hour. Technically it’s _my_ plane - perks of owning a private jet - so normally I can leave whenever the hell I want, but seeing as I gave Aunt Hottie a timetable, I’d rather not get chewed out by someone’s guardian twice in as many weeks. Don’t ask about the first one.”

Aunt Hottie?

 _Aunt May_.

Suddenly Peter was completely alert, all remnants of sleep snapped from his brain in an instant. Tony Stark. Germany. Avengers.

 _Tony Stark bought him pizza_.

Peter sat up abruptly, got tangled in whatever blanket he had been sleeping under, and managed to control his undignified tumble out of bed enough to land in a crouch on the floor. He blinked and looked around, ignoring the sore bruises on his back, heat flooding his cheeks when he spotted Mr. Stark himself watching him with a raised eyebrow from near the desk across the room.

“Nice landing.”

Peter didn’t even have it in him to respond in words, managing an awkward sort of chuckle as he scrambled to his feet.

“Where’s the suit?” Tony repeated, jerking a thumb toward the metal carrying case that was now sitting open on the dresser. Peter blinked. Suit? Suit! Right!

“U-Uh…” _Shit._ Where had he taken it off the day before? Everything had happened in such a blur, and then he was back at the hotel, and trying to remember how to get the damned thing off, and then he was recording a full recap of what had happened, and then he put the suit back _on_ and he went to that _rave_ \- and Mr. Stark was still staring at him. “Right, s-sorry–”

Without really thinking, Peter did a quick flip over the bed, skirting past Tony to find his way to the bathroom...and to the suit. He remembered, now, the rapid and panicked struggle of trying to get the damned thing off once he was back in his room after his nighttime escapades, having to pee after being out all night but being horribly trapped in the very thing that had been protecting him at the airport. That is, until he remembered putting it on that morning, and taking it off early that afternoon, and the trigger mechanism in the spider emblem on the chest, and - yeah. It had been a bit of a nightmare.

Peter snatched the spider suit from where he’d hung it over the bar for the shower curtain and scooped up the mask from the counter, neatly dodging the door frame as he hurried back to where Tony was waiting for him.

“Got it. Sorry.” He held both out to Tony, who took them with a mildly amused expression on his face. “Was I - sorry, was I supposed to, like, put them back in the...the case? Thingy? When I was done?”

“Don’t sweat it, kid, I’m just packing it up for traveling.”

“O-Oh. Right.”

Peter nodded, as though this was obvious. (It wasn’t.) He bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, plucking at the cuffs of his hoodie (he’d fallen asleep in his clothes? Crap…) and glancing around, still trying to drag his tired brain into some state of full awareness.

“Jet lag is a bitch, huh?”

“What?”

Peter pulled his attention back to Tony, who was casting him a backwards glance even as he folded the red and blue suit neatly into its case. He pressed a button on the right holographic panel and the whole thing closed itself up with a satisfying _click_. Cool.

“Jet lag. Time zone hopping can put your brain on the fritz. Trust me, I know.”

“Oh, really?” Peter tilted his head to the side, curious. “I always thought that was - like - a movie thing.”

Tony snorted.

“Nope. Not a myth.” Tony tapped the sealed case twice with two fingers, then turned around to face the full-length mirror near the desk. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, seemingly trying to fix some of the mild disorder that had appeared there in the night.

(Mr. Stark was in the same clothes as yesterday. Did he not leave last night? Or did he just have a lot of versions of the same outfits? He was pretty rich, Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case–)

“Technically it’d be three-thirty in the morning back in Queens, so I’m not surprised. You can sleep on the plane.” Tony finally cast another look in Peter’s direction. “We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready, Spiderling. Go ahead and get packed up. And change if you want...don’t make yourself suffer by wearing the same jeans you slept on.”

Peter could feel the flush crawling up his face at those words.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he mumbled, his shoulders half-hunched as he slipped past Tony to fetch his phone.

“I noticed. But you needed it, after yesterday. Honestly so did I. I crashed on your couch, by the way…I hope you don’t mind.”

“No! No, of course not!” Peter babbled quickly, winding up his phone charger and tossing it on the bed to pack. “It’s fine, really. Totally. You could’ve taken the bed if you–”

...what? Peter had finally glanced down at his phone, at the absolute pile of notifications from his best friend. What the hell…? With a furrowed brow, Peter tapped on his messaging app, scrolling to the top of the mass of all-caps and exclamation-filled messages. He squeaked.

“You texted Ned?!”

“Ned…?” Tony turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. Then, as if he was _just now_ remembering: “Oh yeah! The pineapple guy. Nice kid. I like him.”

“W-Why - _how_ did you - _M-Mr. Stark_!”

Tony Stark had texted his best friend. From _his_ phone. Had he read Peter’s messages? How much had he seen? Oh, god, Ned had probably had a _stroke_ when he got that notification. (That may not have been too far off, if the literal mountain of keyboard-smash messages in the chat were anything to go by.)

“Was that too far?” Tony asked, and when Peter stared at him incredulously, he caught the faintest glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. It was gone as soon as it had come. “I didn’t mean to snoop, I honestly didn’t. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, and my name was on the screen. Can you blame me?” He rubbed a hand across his chest, wincing slightly as he did so. “Sorry, kid. I probably should’ve asked first, huh?”

“Maybe, yeah!” The flush of embarrassment had reached the tips of his ears, and he chucked his phone halfheartedly at the bed. “...how…how much did you read?”

“Oh, only from the part where you said I bought you pizza and it was ‘weird’. Which, to be fair, for a kid who can walk on the ceiling? Not that weird.”

Peter, at this point, looked as though he was auditioning to be a tomato.

Mr. Stark was right, though, Peter decided once they had boarded Tony’s private jet an hour or so later. Of all the absolutely insane things that had happened in the last few days, Tony Freaking Stark ordering a stack of large pizzas to Peter’s hotel room wasn’t the craziest thing in the world.

Peter was settled in one of the plush seats in the plane, rapidly texting Ned as quickly as he could in an attempt to keep up with his best friend’s impossibly fast excitement-fueled messages. Technically, Peter had shot off his first text the moment they boarded, and it had taken a few hours for his friend to see it (it was four in the morning or something in New York; Peter didn’t bother doing the math) but Ned had immediately begun flipping out again the moment he was awake. It felt a bit like volleyball, Peter supposed, though he had never played a proper game of volleyball in his life. Ned would ask a question, Peter would try to answer, Ned would freak out, Peter would freak out, they’d both get _way_ too excited (or Peter would talk Ned down, whichever came first) and then the whole thing would start over again.

And this was without Peter even mentioning the fact that he was Spider-Man and he had been dragged off to Germany to fight with (and against) the Avengers. Peter couldn’t even begin to fathom how Ned would react to _that_ news.

“How the hell do you sit like that?”

Peter looked up from his phone to see Tony Stark standing over him, smirking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh–”

“You look like a damn pretzel.”

Did he? Peter glanced down at his legs, one of which was tucked beneath him at an odd angle and the other of which was hanging over the arm into the aisle.

“...if I say the spider bite made me super flexible, is that a good enough reason?”

Tony snorted.

“Sure. I’ll take it.” The billionaire settled into the seat opposite Peter, pulling out his phone as he went. “That shiner of yours is looking better. And it’s nice to see that you’re no longer dead to the world. That’s definitely one way of making a long flight pass by quicker.”

Peter smiled sheepishly. He had been asleep from between the time they had taken off and ten minutes ago, when Ned’s rapidfire messages had roused him from his slumber.

“I think being punched in the face with a shield would make anyone wanna take a nap,” he joked, though judging by the sudden almost-imperceptible tension around Mr. Stark’s eyes, perhaps he shouldn’t have joked about getting hurt. Tony pressed his free hand lightly to his chest, his focus going distant for the span of a few seconds.

“I reckon I agree with you, kid,” Tony muttered.

Peter’s phone was still buzzing in his hand, but he wasn’t paying it any attention. He watched Mr. Stark with a confused and concerned frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was something here that he was missing, something creating a strained tension in the air that he wasn’t quite sure how to diffuse. He opened his mouth, bit his lip, then finally caved and asked:

“Hey, Mr. Stark? Are...are you okay?”

And just like that, Tony was back from wherever his thoughts had taken him, quirking an eyebrow at Peter before bringing his focus down to his phone.

“Peachy,” he said. “Sore as hell, but that’s what happens when you’re a superhero.”

He smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. _Peachy_. Peter frowned. The word stirred up a memory from the night before, something Mr. Stark had said when he first arrived in Peter’s room.

‘ _Peachy. A certain_ someone _just got a little_ bashy _with his shield today. I’ll be fine._ ’

Peter hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t asked - but he didn’t actually know what had happened after Happy had driven him back to the hotel, and after War Machine had gotten hurt. Up until that point, Peter had been winded from the fight, staying down like Mr. Stark had said. He had watched from the ground as Iron Man and War Machine and that Falcon guy with the wings flew skyward, following who he could only assume was Captain America in a jet, and he knew that if he didn’t have enhanced vision, he wouldn’t have been able to see Colonel Rhodes as he fell from the sky. He saw, heard, _felt_ the collision even from where he was lying, a shiver tingling at the back of his neck, wide-eyed fear springing to life beneath his mask.

Peter had webbed there as quickly as he could, propelling himself closer to where everybody else was already gathered. He didn’t have to be a genius to know that the situation was bad.

And then Tony had sent him away, promising to talk later, his words distant and flippant with all his focus on his friend. Which, of course, didn’t surprise Peter at all. If it was Ned in that suit–

Peter had shuddered and paled from just thinking about it when that thought crossed his mind in the back of the car.

But, again - when Mr. Stark had appeared at the hotel after everything was said and done, and it was silently implied that everything was over, Peter hadn’t even thought to ask about what had happened.

‘ _A certain_ someone _just got a little_ bashy _with his shield today._ ’

Tony was still pressing a hand to his chest, and Peter realized he had been staring at his mentor for a while. He snapped his eyes back down to his phone, reading Ned’s latest texts but not really registering the words. Clearly he had missed a lot. Mr. Stark wasn’t okay. Peter may be just a teenager, and sure, maybe Michelle was better at the whole psycho-analysis thing than he was, but there was more to what had happened in the past twenty-four hours than anyone was telling him.

For the briefest of moments, Peter worried his teeth against his bottom lip, wondering if he should ask...wondering if he should try and help.

In the end, he decided, his mentor was just that - a mentor - and if what happened after Germany was important to Peter and to Spider-Man, then Mr. Stark would tell him. It wasn’t Peter’s place to ask.

“I still can’t _believe_ you texted Ned,” he said instead, maybe fifteen minutes later. He was leaning forward in his chair with both feet on the floor, no longer sprawled across his seat like the world’s best human rendition of a pair of tangled headphones. “I was already struggling to keep him off my back long enough to come up with a decent cover story for what exactly I _did_ this weekend, and now - I mean - Mr. Stark, do you have any idea how many questions he’s been asking me??”

Tony had the gall to look smug, lounging back in his seat with his legs crossed and his sunglasses dangling from one hand.

“If you mean, can I hear your phone constantly buzzing in your lap in those rare moments when you put it down between sending a _slew_ of unending texts, then yes.”

Peter spluttered, sinking back in his seat and dragging both hands down his face. (In the seat beside him, his phone buzzed again.)

“What am I supposed to _tell_ him?!”

“You’ll come up with something,” Tony waved his sunglasses through the air, making a few circling motions with his hand. “Consider it punishment for your late-night Spider-Manning yesterday.”

Peter felt the color drain from his face.

“I - w-what?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. He reached across the aisle to a small table set into the opposite wall of the plane, plucking a newspaper from its surface and tossing it into Peter’s lap. Peter read the foreign headline of the folded page, confused.

“Sticky boy saves chancellor,” Tony translated for him. “Know anything about that?”

“That...that was the chancellor?” Peter asked faintly, his eyes widening. He’d saved someone _important_? Despite knowing that he was probably in a lot of trouble for this, he couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest. Feeling eyes on him, he flicked his gaze upward to catch Tony giving him a flat look. “I-I mean, it’s not like they got a photo, so–”

“Flip it over.”

Oh, _god_. His stomach lurched, his hands slowly turning the paper in his hands. Beneath the massive headline, right above the article, a far-off and definitely _blurry_ photo showed Spider-Man swinging through the skies of Germany, carrying an equally blurry woman in his arms. He gasped, an excited smile blooming to life on his face.

“That’s _awesome!_ ” he breathed, giddiness bubbling up in his chest. He’d made the paper! A foreign paper, in another country, but he’d saved someone important _and_ made headline news all in a single night. Peter snapped his head up to look at Tony, still grinning like an idiot. He held up the paper. “Can I keep this?”

“Oh my god, kid.” Tony managed to stay serious for all of three seconds, trying to look disappointed, but - he clearly couldn’t help it when he snorted, grinned, and laughed, dragging a hand over his face and shaking his head. “Holy shit, Parker. You’re too much like me. I can’t believe this–”

“What?” _He was like Tony Stark?_ Pride welled up inside him, something he quickly tried to squash but couldn’t quite stamp out.

“Okay - okay, normally, if this was New York, I’d honestly be half-proud of you,” Tony said once his laughter had settled, still chuckling between his words. “You made headlines and saved the day. Great job. But - no, _no_ ,” he held up a finger, stemming Peter’s excitement. “ _Listen_. Nobody’s supposed to know you were in Germany at all. You’re lucky that photograph was blurry as hell, and you’re lucky nobody here knows who Spider-Man is yet. Okay?”

“Y-Yeah, of course!” Peter nodded quickly. Of course. Germany - super secret. He knew that. “Yeah. Of course, Mr. Stark. I understand. Secret. Got it.”

“Good.” Tony rolled his eyes, looking out the window as he shook his head for a second time in fond amusement. “Good work saving a government official, but next time, try to avoid the cameras when you’re far from home. Alright?”

“Totally.”

Tony shot him another look then, his eyes narrowed and questioning. Peter squirmed in his seat, the newspaper crinkling in his hands.

“...you didn’t do anything else while you were out web-slinging, did you?”

“Uhhhh...no?” Nope. Definitely not. He definitely hadn’t gone to a rooftop party in the middle of a foreign country. Toooootally not.

Tony eyed him speculatively.

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“...statement?” Tony raised an eyebrow, and Peter quickly amended: “S-Statement. A statement. No, I didn’t do anything else.”

Tony was still watching him, analysing him. Trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Peter swallowed and flicked his eyes between Tony and the newspaper, setting it aside and reaching for his phone instead. He unlocked it and read and reread Ned’s last text, not really taking in any of the words on the screen. The back of his neck prickled under his mentor’s gaze.

“I told you. You’re a _shit_ liar, Underoos.”

Peter stiffened, his shoulders hunching, and his eyes darted back up to Mr. Stark, who raised both eyebrows at him the moment their eyes met.

“Got something to share?”

“I-I…” Peter went pink, heat flushing his cheeks. Crap. “...I went to a...a rave?”

Tony blinked, his mouth falling open and his brow furrowing.

“You…” He stared, blinking once, twice, before a snorting laugh escaped him. “Peter Parker, at a _rave?_ I’m sorry, that - _haha_ \- that doesn’t–”

“Wait, wait, did you just say you went to a _rave_?”

A new voice joined the conversation. Peter spun in his chair to see Happy sitting far behind him, a book hanging from one hand and his usual annoyed expression plastered over his face. Peter ducked slightly in his seat as though the white leather would save him from the irked driver’s ire.

“Kid went to a rave in the middle of Germany on a fucking whim, oh my _god!”_ Tony was full-out laughing now, the hand over his eyes doing nothing to hide the man’s mirth.

“Tony!”

“What?” Tony gestured wildly toward Peter, grinning at Happy all the while. “Don’t tell me to watch my language, the kid’s heard it all, remember?”

“Tony–”

“Oh, wait, I’m sorry, is this not supposed to be funny?” He glanced between Peter and Happy. “No, this is serious, isn’t it? A fourteen-year-old out, by himself, in a foreign country at a back alley dance party–”

“Rooftop,” Peter mumbled. "And I'm almost fifteen."

“–yes, sorry, a _rooftop_ dance party,” Tony corrected, chuckling at Peter. “That’s probably a bad thing, right? Something I could get in trouble for if a guardian finds out? I shouldn’t be laughing, should I?”

Happy grumbled something that Peter couldn’t quite make out (not for lack of hearing, but more for lack of Happy having said anything _remotely_ English) and gave his employer a long-suffering look.

“Alright, alright,” Tony sighed dramatically. He turned to Peter and pointed at him. “You’re in big trouble, young man.”

Peter blinked at him, confused and not quite sure if he was supposed to be taking this seriously. Then Tony winked, smirking, and - oh. Apparently not. Peter huffed out a quiet laugh and sank more comfortably into his seat.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” he parroted, grinning at the odd half-stifled laugh that his mentor let out before falling back into barely-restrained chuckling.

“So this rave. Was this before or after I caught you sitting on the ceiling?” Tony asked then, blatantly ignoring Happy’s half-assed protests from the other end of the plane.

“Uh...about half an hour before?” Peter shrugged sheepishly. He sank a little in his chair and fidgeted with his phone, now dark in his hand. “I couldn’t sleep. I just - I don’t know, I - I wanted to see the city a bit? Before we left? And - and so I just...I went out. For a bit. A-And I wasn’t _looking_ for a party, I swear!” he threw out quickly, his eyes going wide in his attempt to assure Mr. Stark that he truly hadn’t intended to look for trouble. “I was just going for a swing around the city! Then I just - I heard music, and I followed it, and…” He shrugged again, his face feeling warm.

“I got enough trouble back in the day from _this_ guy going out to parties at your age,” came Happy’s unexpected comment from his seat. “If keeping an eye on you leads to more of _that_ , I want out. I don’t care if it cuts my pay, I’m not–”

“Happy. Shush.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Peter’s a good kid, I don’t think he’ll be getting into _my_ kind of teenage trouble anytime soon.”

 _His_ kind of trouble? Peter cast an inquisitive glance between the pair, catching the exasperation and humor that seemed to be bouncing between them at some reference he wasn’t quite getting. He racked his brain, trying to remember. He was vaguely aware that Tony Stark had some kind of reputation, or used to anyway...but he couldn’t remember much about it. Drinking and partying, maybe? It was before Peter’s time. Peter had been maybe seven or eight when Tony Stark had become Iron Man, and at that age he hadn’t really known much about the guy besides the fact that Stark Industries made really cool inventions. His interest in learning about advanced technology was still beginning at that point, and even when he finally found an interest in studying and building things of his own, he cared more about Tony Stark’s inventions and technological advancements than whatever the tabloids had to say.

“The kid might be a bit like me in a lot of ways, but only the ways that count,” Tony was saying. “Don’t sweat it, Hap. Besides, you’re irreplaceable. I don’t trust anyone else to keep an eye on him besides myself. And maybe Rhodey, if he knew, but he doesn’t.”

“Does...uh…” Peter cut in as politely as he could. “Sorry, but - last night, I kind of heard you talking to um...was it - was that Pepper Potts?”

“At the hotel?” Tony asked, nodding. “Sure. Pepper. What about it?”

“You - well, you sort of said something about...uh. About not sharing my identity over the phone…” He shifted in his seat, his knee bouncing. Tony’s focus flicked down to Peter’s knee before focusing on his face. “...does that mean you _are_ going to tell her who I am? Or - or anyone else? Does anyone else know? Do the Avengers know? I-I mean I kind of assumed they didn’t, but if she–”

“I tell Pepper almost everything,” Tony said, cutting off Peter’s nervous rambling. Peter swallowed and nodded hesitantly. Tony went on. “If you’re worried about your secret getting out, don’t be. Pepper might get a bit pissed at me for bringing a teenager into battle - which, by the way, was _not_ the plan even though it ended that way - but she’s not gonna tell anyone. Don’t sweat it, Pete.”

“Right…” Peter nodded slowly, then more decisively, willing himself to trust that Mr. Stark was being fully honest. “Right. Okay. Cool.”

“And nobody else knows but you, me, and Happy,” Tony added, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I can keep it that way if you want me to, but if I end up needing to tell anyone else, it’ll be Rhodey.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter nodded again. Rhodey. Colonel Rhodes. War Machine. Yeah, he...he could probably trust him. He spun his cell phone in his hands, the screen lighting up with yet another text from Ned. He ignored it for now. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’d - I’d like to keep it under wraps for as long as I can, if that’s okay?”

“Sure kid,” Tony shrugged. He reclined in his seat and pulled out his phone, the screen coming to life beneath his fingers. “That’s a smart move. I think I managed to keep my secret identity a secret for all of a few weeks before I went against S.H.I.E.L.D.’s orders and announced myself as Iron Man to the world at large. So, you know...you’re already doing better than I did.”

That managed to pull a small laugh out of Peter, who grinned at the man across from him.

“I remember that,” he admitted. “I didn’t see it live, but everyone at school was talking about Iron Man after that. It was on the news all week.”

“Not my brightest moment, but I don’t regret it,” Tony admitted, smirking at his phone. He glanced up at Peter. “Alright, we’ve got another four or five hours before we hit New York. So even though I scoffed at it when we met, I’m going to encourage you to go do your homework. Blegh. _Boring_. Regardless, I know you brought it with you, and god knows you haven’t had time to work on it yet between Berlin, the chancellor, and that rooftop rave. So wrap it up before we land so that I can tell your aunt how impressive and responsible you were. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Peter parroted back with a sheepish smile. He watched Tony stand and leave, already making another call as he walked away, before he headed off to fetch his backpack from the back of the plane. Getting a free trip to Germany was fun, but that wouldn’t stop Mr. Harrington from marking him down if he turned in a half-finished assignment he had promised would be done by the time he returned to class.

* * *

“ _Welcome home, boss. Should I let Ms. Potts know you’ve returned?_ ”

“Yeah FRIDAY, why not?” Tony shrugged as he stepped through a set of double doors on the floor containing the collective Avengers labs, nodding for Peter to follow. “Just let her know it’ll be a few hours before we can talk business.”

“ _Can do_.”

“Wooaaaah…”

Peter’s eyes were wide and curious, his expression exuding pure awe and excitement as he looked around at the glass-walled interior of the tower. His phone was half-raised and his eyes were flitting around like a hummingbird, trying to take everything in at once.

“What, planning on recording more for your little video diary?” Tony asked, tapping Peter’s phone. Peter slowly dragged his focus back to Tony, glancing down at the phone in his hand with a sheepish smile.

“Uh...y-yeah?” He said it like a question, asking permission.

“It’s alright,” Tony nodded. He pocketed his hands with a smirk, shrugging. “I’d probably do the same–”

“I told him not to do it,” Happy said irritably from behind the pair, shooting Peter a long-suffering look. “He was filming everything…”

“Yeah? Okay–”

“...I’ll have to wipe the chip–”

“Hey hey hey, hey, it’s alright,” Tony cut off Happy’s mild scolding with a shake of his head, waving a hand through the air as if to brush the thought away. “He already promised me he wouldn’t share it with anyone. Honestly, Hap, who’s he gonna hurt?”

Happy huffed out an irritable sigh, but he wasn’t one to argue with Tony Stark.

“Listen, I’m gonna be up here with the kid for a few minutes,” Tony went on, turning around to face Happy directly. “You can wait downstairs if you want. Make yourself comfortable. Grab some tea. Turn on _Downton Abbey_ or something - I’ll come get you when it’s time to take Squirt back home.”

Without even waiting for Happy’s response, Tony turned on his heels and started off down the glass-walled hall like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

“C’mon, Spiderling.” Tony nodded for Peter to follow him. “Let’s get down to the lab. I’ll try not to let this take too long.”

Peter, who was recording again much to Tony’s amusement, hurried to keep up with Tony’s decisive strides.

“What - uh - what are we gonna do?” he asked, trying to keep himself from walking into his mentor even as he peeked curiously into the ridiculously high-tech rooms on their right. He was completely ignoring the view overlooking the city on their left, the sky-high windows clearly of no interest to him when there was so much technology in the vicinity.

“Oh, you know...the basics. Blood work, DNA sampling, full biometric scan by FRIDAY.” Tony slowed slightly so Peter could fall into step beside him, casting the teen a sideways glance. “If that’s okay with you, of course. You get final say here, kid. I don’t want you to feel like a lab rat.”

“Oh...um.” Peter pulled his focus away from a long-closed door labelled as belonging to one Dr. Bruce Banner (Tony could see the bewildered look on the kid’s face, could read his astonishment in every inch of his expression) to blink at Tony. “I...I mean, I want to know as much as I can. How about - like, you just, do what you need to do, and I can tell you if I’m uncomfortable...? Wait, I’m sorry, did that say–”

“You got it, Parker.” Tony clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder, then took a right turn to stop in front of a keypad-locked glass door. Peter tried to look back the way they had come, gesturing behind them in silent curiosity. “FRIDAY?”

“ _Do I really have to remember the keycode for you?_ ”

“Ouch, harsh.” Tony shot a look toward the nearest camera, but reached out to type a code into the keypad all the same. “And here I am just trying to impress the kid.”

“I’m - oh, no, I’m definitely impressed,” Peter babbled, still glancing backwards even as Tony led him through the door with an arm around his shoulders. “This is - _wow_ , I just - did that say Dr. Banner? As in Dr. _Bruce_ Banner? Like, the–”

“The big green guy?”

“No, the - well, yeah, that too, but - I was gonna say theoretical physicist. He’s got, like, _seven_ Ph.D.s, and he’s - I mean, he’s a _legend_ in the scientific field! His work on nuclear physics and gamma radiation is unparallelled! I didn’t know he- _ooooly crap–_ ”

Peter had finally turned away from the door to face the room Tony had led him too, and for once he seemed to be rendered utterly speechless. The hand holding his phone had sunk in front of him, filming clearly not his primary focus right now, and his eyes had gone so big and wonder-filled that it was a marvel they hadn’t popped out of his head.

Withholding a chuckle, Tony strode past a doorway leading into the medical half of the Avengers labs, pocketing his hands as he descended the short stairs that stepped down into the larger lab space he and Bruce often (used to) shared. The lights came up around him and the blacked-out window surrounding the lab faded into transparency, illuminating the space and letting Peter see the full extent of what was inside. When Tony turned back around, leaning back against one of the workbenches and crossing his ankles, Peter was still in the doorway doing a rather impressive impression of a goldfish.

“Error 404: Pete not found,” Tony called out. “Earth to Spidey. Did I break you, kid?”

“Uhhh….” Peter snapped his eyes to Tony, and Tony could see a faint smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “I’m - no, nonono, I’m good. I’m - _great_. This is _amazing!_ ”

Peter took a few slow steps across the room, his eyes jumping over every piece of tech in the vicinity, taking it all in with a childlike wonder that had Tony smiling. (Something warm flooded his chest. He didn’t try to identify it.)

With a slow and quiet tap, Peter stopped whatever video recording his phone had still been taking, tucking his phone into his pocket in favor of just absorbing what he was experiencing firsthand.

“Is this...this is your lab?” he asked, breathless.

“Technically, _all_ the labs in this building are ‘my labs’,” Tony said with a wry tilt of his head. “But if you mean _personal_ lab, then no. This is - _was_ \- well, I guess you’d call it the Avengers’ lab. Shared space, group projects - all that. My personal lab is upstairs, but this one has better medical equipment, which is what we need today.”

Peter nodded as he took hesitant steps down the partial stairs toward Tony, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed.

“Don’t be shy, kid, get over here,” Tony beckoned him closer. “Go ahead and stand in the middle to let FRIDAY do a biometric scan. Right over here, come on.”

Technically FRIDAY could scan him from anywhere in the building, but the holo-display was mostly centered over the glass in the middle of the room...and if this was Peter’s first time in the lab, Tony wanted to make it impressive.

The kid was quick to do as he was told. He stood, half-fidgeting, on the glass paned flooring in the center of the lab, taking a moment to stare down through the glass into the robotic repair center that could be seen on the floor below. Though it hadn’t been nearly as active since the Iron Legion had been dismantled after Ultron, Tony had repurposed it as a repair space for the Iron Man suits and some of his other side projects.

Not that he had used the suits much since Sokovia, not until very recently...not until Germany.

Clearing his throat, Tony forced the discomforting memories away. He wasn’t here to dwell on the past. Not right now.

“FRIDAY, biometric scan please. For Mr. Parker, not myself.”

“ _Biometric scan in progress_.”

Peter looked around, curious. Then he jumped slightly when - a moment later - a green ring of holographic light encircled him, scanning down his body before dissipating. It was for show, really, but Tony was always one for showmanship and the dramatics.

“ _Scan complete._ ” Blue holo-screens sprang to life in the air surrounding Peter, text and photos dancing around him, constantly moving and shifting aside to allow space for another line of information, another flickering image. His name was there, or course, but Tony watched Peter’s intrigue as he spotted other familiar info in the mass of glowing data. Height, weight, fingerprints, school records–

“ _Peter Benjamin Parker. Born 10th of August, 2001. Currently residing in Queens, New York. Current guardian: Maybelle Parker née Reilly, and up until six months ago, Benjamin Franklin Parker. Deceased. Parents: Mary Teresa Parker née Fitzpatrick and Richard Laurence–_ ”

“That’s enough, FRIDAY,” Tony spoke up, stepping away from the desk he was leaning against. At the mention of his uncle’s name, Peter had gone still, his eyes trailing from the ceiling where FRIDAY’s voice was coming from toward a lone photograph hovering off to the side. There was a sadness in his expression, in his eyes, one that Tony felt didn’t belong on the kid’s face. He eyed Peter carefully as he went on: “Send the data to my personal hard drives. This isn’t for the Avengers or company use, understood?”

“ _Right away, boss_.”

Peter’s eyes hadn’t left the holographic image of Ben Parker’s smiling face. Slowly, Tony approached him, rounding in front of the teen to try and catch his eye.

“You alright, Pete?”

“Fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter muttered quickly, flicking his eyes in Tony’s direction.

“Are you sure?” Tony searched his expression, furrowing his brow slightly at the pallor and sense of loss and guilt he saw there. “Do you need a second?”

“No, I’m fine,” Peter repeated, shaking his head. His knee bounced a few times, his hands clutching the edges of the slightly-too-long cuffs of the hoodie he wore. Not fine.

“Take a second anyway,” Tony decided for him. “I need to get a few things as it is.”

With a few practiced hand motions, Tony collected all the excess information still hovering around Peter and wadded it up, the holograms easily obeying his movements as he tossed the glowing bundle into the digital arcade equivalent of a trash can. It landed in the center of a flashing skee ball target and vanished from view, target and all...all except the data screen containing Ben’s picture.

Tony didn’t do well with emotions. He really didn’t. He didn’t always know what to _do_ with them. He’d been dodging Pepper’s suggestions of getting therapy for years, since before the attack on New York even, and he wasn’t about to change his mind now. Logically, he knew most of his issues - including his inability to properly communicate his feelings - could be traced back to the rocky relationship he had with his father. It wasn’t as though Howard Stark had been a shining example of fatherhood.

No, emotions weren’t his strong suit, but he could read people, and he could read the kid a little bit, and what he saw there was something he knew he wasn’t qualified to even _try_ to talk about. What he _could_ do was give the kid some space. So with a sniff, Tony pocketed his hands and strolled back up the half-stairs, stepping through the doorway on the right that led into the glass-walled room of the medical lab. He collected what he needed, gathering it all on a metal tray, and forced himself to wait.

* * *

Peter didn’t know why he had been so thrown by FRIDAY’s words. He knew from the name alone what a biometric scan was comprised of...he knew his family history would be drawn to the forefront, something which he was sure Tony Stark already knew the details of. Peter didn’t doubt that the man had done his research before showing up on May Parker’s doorstep and offering Peter the chance to come to Germany. It was exactly why Peter hadn’t been opposed to the scan. Anything Tony would find, he probably either already had or could easily gain access to with a few words to FRIDAY. Besides, Peter had nothing to hide. His biggest secret was the first one Mr. Stark had discovered.

Go figure.

Of course, Peter hadn’t been expecting to see the details and data of his existence brought to life before his eyes, a holographic display that was much more intuitive and advanced than anything Peter had seen in Star Wars. It was impressive, _amazing_ even, and he couldn’t help wondering how it worked, already trying to break down the technological side of things even as the name of his high school scrolled past his eyes.

And then–

_Current guardian: Maybelle Parker née Reilly, and up until six months ago, Benjamin Franklin Parker. Deceased._

Benjamin Franklin Parker.

_Deceased._

Hearing his uncle’s name, seeing his photo, it hadn’t really bothered him. After all, there were photographs of Uncle Ben around the apartment in Queens, and Aunt May wasn’t the type to pretend he never existed. They talked about him, sometimes, with an air of fond remembrance and a touch of melancholy in every word. Peter had thought he had reached a point of acceptance where his uncle’s death was concerned. But–

 _Deceased_.

Somehow, that single word, tacked onto the end of Ben’s name - it hurt, like a shot through the heart. It was so final, so - so–

Peter bit his lip, his heart pounding. He could hear his own pulse in his ears. (Could hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat, in the next room, and the whir of machines, and the high-pitched buzz of the lights overhead, and the low sound of air being pushed through vents throughout the building.) He found himself unable to look away from the lone, still-hovering photo that Tony had left behind. For a moment, he wondered - idly - what his uncle would think of what Peter was doing now. If he would be upset by it, or if he would be proud.

Somehow he wasn’t sure which answer hurt more.

Swallowing thickly, Peter took a long, shuddering breath, and just as he had seen Tony doing, he reached for the photo. He plucked it from the air, unable to stifle his awe when it moved with his hand, and carefully “held” the image.

“FRIDAY?” he asked, not sure if the AI would even respond to him. “Can you please...um…like, make this disappear? Like the other holograms?”

“ _Of course, Mr. Parker._ ”

And just like that, the photo was gone.

When Peter stepped into the medical lab a minute or so later, he was decidedly less shaken up than he had been before. He had both hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his fists tugging down against the material as the only sign that any of his lingering thoughts remained.

“Hope you’re not afraid of needles,” Tony said, leaning back against the counter with his ankles crossed.

“I-I…” Peter stilled, his eyes going wide.

“Ah - maybe not the best way to start,” Tony confessed, holding up his hands in apologetic surrender. “If you want me to get blood work done for you, I’ll need a sample. Hence, needles. You can still say no if you’re not feeling up to it, but like I said, I’d feel better knowing a bit more about what that spider bite did to you, kid.”

“No,” Peter said immediately, then quickly stammered out: “I-I mean - sorry, not - I meant _no_ meaning _yes_.”

“No meaning yes?” Tony repeated. Based on the momentary sparkle in the man’s eyes, Peter had the strangest feeling Tony had caught the unintentional _Clue_ reference in Peter’s words. He groaned and let his head fall back, scuffing one sneaker-clad shoe against the floor before specifying:

“I mean _yes_ , I want to do it, and _no_ , I’m not gonna - I’m not backing out.”

Tony raised his eyebrows with a quiet huff of laughter.

“Alright, Wadsworth,” Tony quipped, rolling his eyes (ah, so he’d caught Peter’s reference after all), and he pushed away from the counter behind him to snatch up the pair of rubber medical gloves he had apparently pulled out. “Pop up on the table, kid. This won’t take long. Unless you’re the type to faint at the sight of blood...but seeing as you spend your weekends and afternoons stopping muggings and kicking minor bad guy butt, I don’t think that’s a problem for you.”

“I sometimes kick _major_ bad guy butt,” Peter grumbled out a half-hearted protest as he easily hopped up to sit on the metal table, shrugging off his jacket as he went. He winced when the action pulled a bit at one of the still-healing bruises on his back, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. Tony, apparently, caught his reaction because he was soon tugging at the hem of Peter’s science-pun-based t-shirt of the day (“ _YOU MATTER - Unless you multiply yourself by the speed of light squared...then you energy_ ”) with one glove-clad hand.

“Mind if I take a look at your back, Major Kick-Ass?” Tony asked flatly. “Your black eye is looking way better than it did last night, but I recall you telling me you had other bruises that still needed to heal.”

“Yeah I do, and it’s _fine_ ,” Peter insisted, leaning away from Mr. Stark’s hand. “I told you, I heal fast.”

“Sure, but I don’t want you to heal _wrong_ ,” Tony countered.

Peter winced. Tony leveled a flat look at him, challenging him. Daring him to protest. Peter managed to hold the impromptu staring contest for all of five seconds, before finally, with an annoyed sigh, he gave in. He carefully tugged his shirt off over his head, barely wincing at the way it made his back throb.

Behind him, Tony hissed in sympathy.

“Ohhh, buddy,” he mumbled, and though Peter couldn’t see the man’s face, he imagined Mr. Stark was probably wincing if his tone was anything to go by. “Have you seen this yet?”

“I...I sorta, tried to look at it in the mirror yesterday?” Peter shrugged. “It didn’t look _great_ from what I could see, but it probably looks worse than it feels.”

“Parker, your back looks like Bruce when he’s mid-transformation,” Tony informed him. “You’re _covered_ in black and green and yellow. And - _Jesus_ , did you get hit with a pole??”

“More like the pole got hit with me,” Peter rolled his eyes. “Captain America sort of threw me at that boarding bridge before he dropped it on me.”

“ _Fuck_.”

...was it really that bad? Peter glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in inquisitive concern. Tony was dragging a hand over his mouth, his face a little pale, and his expression was drawn into a frown. _Was he worried? About Peter? Really?_ When he caught Peter looking, Tony flicked his eyes in the teen’s direction.

“FRIDAY, let Mr. Parker take a look at this, if you don’t mind.”

“ _Right away, boss._ ”

Before Peter had the chance to ask what Tony meant, a holographic screen appeared in front of Peter, drawing his attention in an instant. His eyes widened in surprise. Mr. Stark hadn’t been lying. Almost his entire back was littered with green and yellow bruising, a few areas darkened to a purplish-black. In the areas that were darker, Peter could see the outline of distinct points of contact...a few lines and marks that Peter knew were from crashing through the glass window of the airport, or from being thrown into that stack of crates by Ant Man. But the most obvious was a large diagonal patch that spanned from shoulder to hip, the point at which his back had made contact with the metal support beam of the boarding bridge. Holy crap...no wonder Mr. Stark looked so concerned.

“Woooaaah…” he breathed, his back and shoulders stiffening on reflex. “It was a lot more red the first time I tried to see it. But - I mean - it really doesn’t hurt much, I swear,” he shot hasty assurances back over his shoulder toward his mentor, who was now rummaging through a cupboard across the room. “I mean - I-I mean that darker part in the middle _does_ hurt a bit, sometimes, but - but mostly it’s fine. Honestly.”

“Either you’re spewing bullshit, or you’ve got a ridiculously high pain tolerance,” Tony grumbled, glaring at Peter, who shrank where he sat. It felt as though he was being reprimanded by May. Tony finally turned back to Peter with a small round container in hand. “I’ll believe you this time, because frankly I’ve got places to be, but I’m not letting you leave without wrapping that up.”

There was a quiet clatter of plastic-on-metal. Tony had removed the lid of whatever he was holding and set it aside.

“Now hold still and sit up straight so I can put this ointment on you. Fucking _Christ_ , kid…”

That list bit was mumbled in an undertone, and Peter was sure if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he would have missed it completely. As it was, he felt a half-ashamed flush begin to crawl its way up his neck and face while Mr. Stark treated his bruises, the minor chill of the ointment making him shiver where he sat. He really hoped he hadn’t disappointed his idol - _mentor_ \- too much.

* * *

Fucking _hell_. The kid was gonna make him go gray prematurely, he just knew it, and they’d only known each other for a few days.

Tony was used to battlefield injuries at this point. Cuts, bruises, lacerations - none of it was entirely new. Even burns were par for the course. But - _god_ \- he hadn’t expected the kid’s back to look like this. Tony had told him to keep his distance in Berlin, had _told_ him that fighting was a last resort. It hadn’t exactly turned out that way, of course, but - _yikes_. Peter’s back looked like a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting...and Tony would know. He used to own a few of them.

With his lips pressed together in a thin line, Tony gently covered Peter’s back in the bruise salve, careful not to apply too much pressure to the darker areas of bruising. Peter hadn’t been lying when he said he healed quickly - barely a day after the airport and already his injuries had transitioned from red to purple to green and yellow, which was a good sign - but an injury was an injury. Tony had no idea how the kid had managed to sleep with his back like this, let alone swing through the streets of Berlin right after finishing a battle against some of the strongest heroes on the planet.

Maybe it was time to upgrade the kid’s suit.

Tony spared a brief glance upward and caught sight of Peter’s reflection in the glass wall of the med lab, his eyebrows drawn and his hands wringing together in front of him. He looked tense, upset...maybe embarrassed, maybe ashamed. Or perhaps guilty? With a quiet huff, Tony set the plastic container aside and reached for a roll of gauze.

“Why do I get the feeling you never bandage your injuries properly?” he asked. “Arms up.”

“Hm…?” Peter glanced back over his shoulder, his embarrassment melting away in favor of confusion. “Uh...oh, right.” He raised his arms so Tony could begin wrapping his torso, biting his lip and looking straight ahead again. His eyes lingered on the still-present holo-screen before him, watching Tony work.

“...no,” he finally answered. “I - I don’t really do much as far as, you know, bandages go. I don’t get too many injuries like this anyway. Normally I’m dealing with stolen bikes and cats stuck in trees...helping old ladies cross the street, that sort of thing. I’ve stopped a few muggings every month, and a robbery or two...a-and that car I caught? The one on YouTube? That’s like, a one-in-a-million type deal. I think I’ve only ever had to do something like that maybe five times, total.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony mumbled, almost halfway done with the roll of gauze. “Yeah, well, whether it happens often or almost never at all, you can’t just let this shit heal on its own. I may not be a biologist like Bruce, but even I know that letting something heal _wrong_ can do more damage than good. Hold this.”

“Hold…?” Peter stared down at the still-rolled end of the gauze Tony was holding out to him for half a second before grabbing it, holding it still while Tony crossed back to the drawer he had found it in. “...yeah, you’re...you’re not wrong,” he went on sheepishly, and though Tony wasn’t looking back at him he could tell the kid was probably fiddling with the damn bandages. “But it’s not like I could hide it if I kept asking May to buy first aid kits and stuff. I don’t exactly have my own income, you know.”

“Use mine.”

“W-What?”

Tony snorted at the tone of baffled surprise in Peter’s voice. He finally found a roll of medical tape and returned to the teen’s side, snatching the loose end of the gauze from Peter’s hand and pulling it taut. He cut the roll with a pair of scissors and quickly taped the end, then reached out with one hand to pluck a rolled elastic bandage from the table, starting in on a second round of wrapping before Peter had the chance to put his arms down.

“Kid, I’m a billionaire,” Tony commented dryly. “And I happen to regularly provide medical supplies for an entire boy band worth of superheroes. If you still insist on keeping Aunt Hottie in the dark, be my guest, but I’m not having some teen vigilante go without proper medical care just because he doesn’t want to dip into his aunt’s pocketbook. I’ll get you some basic supplies the next time you stop by.”

“Stop...stop by?” Peter repeated, and Tony could see the kid’s widened eyes in his reflection on the glass wall. “Y-Y-You mean - stop by... _here?_ Avengers Tower?”

“Well technically it’ll just be Stark Tower again soon enough,” Tony muttered. “But yes, _shit_ Parker, did you think I was about to dump you on the curb and ignore you for the foreseeable future? ‘Here, have a new suit, thanks for your help in Germany! See you never!’?”

Tony could see a flush of color crawling up the back of Peter’s neck, making it clear that maybe the kid _had_ assumed as much, or it had at least been a passing thought.

In all honesty, if it had been just some other random teenage superhero he had invited to Berlin, Tony might have done exactly that...but Peter wasn’t exactly easy to just leave behind, not now that Tony knew him. The thought of even _attempting_ to ghost the kid seemed too cruel for a boy like Peter.

Tony sniffed and shook his head, quickly finishing up with Peter’s bandages. He hooked the metal fastening to the elastic fabric to keep it in place, then strolled around the front of the table to catch Peter’s eye. Peter was doing a rather impressive job of avoiding his gaze, his eyes locked on his lap where he was plucking at the bottom edge of his newly-fastened bandage wrappings. A few quiet, still seconds passed. Then Tony tapped Peter’s knee.

“C’mon, Spidey, eyes up.” He waited for Peter to look at him, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. “Are you in any extracurriculars? Like, after school.”

“Uh...yeah?” Peter said it like a question, curiosity swirling in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I need your schedule, numbnuts.”

“I’m - oh. Uh. I’ve got decathlon meetings, robotics club, and band rehearsals, but - uh - but honestly I think I’m about ready to drop band.” Peter made a face, his nose crinkling up in irritation. “Band rehearsals are super early before school, so I’m not that sad to see it go. And then...well, there’s decathlon after lunch every day, but then we meet on Mondays and sometimes Wednesdays after school. Robotics has its own block - basically it’s shop but with extra stuff - and we stay after on Thursdays. Sometimes Ned and I stay late other days to mess around in the robotics lab, but that’s - well, I don’t do that as often ever since…”

“Ever since you decided to use your newfound spider powers to fight crime?” Tony hazarded a guess, raising an eyebrow. Peter shrugged and looked away.

“...well, yeah. I can’t really help people if I’m playing around in the school labs all day.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it lightly. “I kind of hate lying to Ned, but he’s not the best at keeping secrets. Or - I mean, he _is_ , but he’s really bad at talking quietly at school.”

“Ned,” Tony repeated. “Pineapple guy?”

“Yeah, _pineapple guy_ ,” Peter chuckled quietly, smiling up at his mentor.

(For an instant, Tony was absolutely certain he would do absolutely anything to keep that kid smiling. He knew it for only an instant. Then it passed, the feeling fading.)

“Well I’m not gonna tell you what to do. Who you tell your secrets to is your choice,” Tony said as he stepped aside to fetch the metal tray he had set there earlier. He glanced toward Peter and his lips thinned. “But that being said, I’m gonna advise you to tell your aunt as soon as you can. Nuhp-up-up!” He interrupted Peter’s immediate and pale-faced protest, cutting him off with a single raised finger and a sharp look. “Shush. The adult is talking. You listen.”

Peter’s jaw snapped shut with a click and he watched Tony warily, even as the man began applying a tourniquet on the teen’s arm.

“I’m not telling May myself. I told you I wouldn’t, so I won’t, not unless it’s an emergency and I have no choice.” Peter grimaced at that, but he kept quiet. Tony ripped open the packet of an alcohol wipe and grabbed Peter’s arm loosely in one hand, gesticulating with the other still holding the wipe. “But seriously, Underoos, I can’t be the only adult in your life who knows what you’re doing. Trust me, the sooner she knows, the better. She’ll be _more_ pissed if she finds out you’ve been lying to her for years instead of just six months.”

Peter squirmed on the metal table, one dangling foot knocking back repeatedly, quietly, against the table leg beneath him. Tony took the opportunity to gently wipe clean Peter’s inner arm.

“She’ll worry,” Peter muttered. “She’ll try to make me stop. And I - I can’t, I _can’t_ stop being Spider-Man. Not now. It’s - it’s a huge part of me! I have these powers, I can’t just _not_ use them–”

“I know,” Tony cut him off again, interrupting Peter’s words that had been increasing in both speed and volume. “I get that. I do. I don’t know your aunt well enough to know how she’ll handle it, but if she gets pissed she gets pissed. If she doesn’t she doesn’t. I can say from experience that hiding things from a woman will make her more upset about how long you’ve been hiding it than what you were hiding. Usually.”

“Does...that happen often?” Peter asked slowly, staring at Tony oddly.

“We’re not talking about me, Spiderling. Do as I say, not as I do. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Uh–”

“Tell your aunt,” Tony reiterated, now carefully holding the needle that had been sitting on the tray. He kept it away from Peter for a moment, meeting the kid’s uncertain eyes. “You can wait a week or two if you want to let the whole internship thing settle in first, but just tell her. Okay? The longer this goes on, the madder she’ll be at you, and by proxy, at _me_ for not telling her myself. So suck it up and be brave. You’re a superhero. You can take it.”

“R-Right…” Peter’s complexion had taken on a pallored and slightly green-tinged hue, his queasiness and anxiety apparent. But he’d be fine. Probably. Maybe. It was with the faintest tendrils of unbidden concern that Tony cleared his throat and offered:

“Listen, if she gives you hell, call me. Okay? I can talk my way out of anything.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say it, or why he even felt the need to offer, but the utter relief that visibly swept through the teenager sitting in front of him made it all the more worthwhile.

“Really?” Peter breathed, hopeful. He had those damned bambi eyes out again.

“Sure kid. I’ve got your back. You’re my padawan, remember?”

Peter let out a breathy little laugh, a brilliant grin splitting his features and a sparkle lighting up his eyes.

“Yes, Master Stark,” Peter quipped, making Tony roll his eyes for the umpteenth time, but he found himself smiling all the same.

“Good. Great. That’s a thing now. I regret this already.” Tony shook his head. “Now hold still. Once I get this blood sample, I’ve got to bring you back to Queens, then I’ve got a meeting with Ms. Potts and the legal team about the Accords. So don’t move and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! I didn't quite like how the plane ride turned out, but the scenes in the tower came out pretty damn well. I know the first two chapters technically take place over the same two days, but it actually used to be ONE chapter and I cut it into two because it had reached over forty pages on Google Docs...and I didn't want to dump a massive heap of text out there for the very first chapter lol. This divides it up quite nicely, and I think tying up the first chapter with where Civil War ended seemed like a great segue into the rest of the story.
> 
> As far as the timeline goes, I've sort of realized that the timeline in the films makes ZERO sense. Civil War supposedly takes place sometime leading up to April, seeing as that was when Tony received the package from Steve...but then in Homecoming we get "Two Months Later" and, all of a sudden, it's approaching - well - Homecoming. Homecoming usually takes place around September or October, and two months before THAT would have been July or August...and seeing as Peter is definitely in school still when Tony recruits him for Civil War–
> 
> You see where I'm coming from lol.
> 
> So instead of Homecoming taking place TWO months later (or something crazier because of April, wtf is with April), Peter returns from Germany on Sunday, June 5th, which gives him enough time to get unpacked and check in with May before returning to school the next day. That gives him a few weeks of school to finish before summer. Then Homecoming takes place when it should, in September, meaning that it's closer to three months before the beginning of Homecoming, the events of which will be a little different because of the way the relationship between Tony and Peter has already changed.
> 
> Anyway! Apologies for my rambling, but I've been thinking about this a lot. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the second chapter as much as the first!
> 
> As always, comments and questions are welcome and encouraged!
> 
> ~ Pixie


	3. Six Burgers, Three Fries, and a Large Coke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrives for his first day at Tony's lab. He gets a small tour, tinkers with some tech, and finally gets his suit back...but what did that lady in the food court just say?

Peter’s ears were ringing. That wasn’t exactly uncommon now-a-days, as his enhanced senses were sometimes dialed up just a _little too far_ , and even after six months of having his abilities he hadn’t quite figured out how to turn them back down. School was always hit-or-miss, really. Some days, school felt almost the same as it had before the bite, with the only change being the extra whispered conversations Peter could hear across the classroom, or the way he could now read the board clearly without glasses no matter where he sat. But other days the ringing of the bell or the cacophonous clamor of voices and noise in the halls or the harsh light of the fluorescent bulb overhead would push him just _barely_ over the edge, and the general sounds and smells of the building would press in on him from all directions, just enough to make him wish his metabolism weren’t too fast for him to down an aspirin.

Today was, unfortunately, one of the latter...one of _those_ days. He stood stiff at his locker, a strained expression fixed on his face, and he was so focused on _not_ focussing on the noise around him that he almost wasn’t registering the conversation he was currently having with Ned.

“Are you _sure_ you can’t come over tonight?” Ned was asking, and Peter didn’t have to pull his head away from (the minor sound buffering safety of) his locker door to see the pleading look on his best friend’s face. Peter sighed and pulled on an apologetic smile.

“I’m sure,” he said, tugging the last two books he needed for homework out of his locker and shoving them into his backpack. (The second backpack of the month, and he hoped there wouldn’t be a third.) “I’ve got the Stark Internship after school, and after that, May and I are having a movie night. You know I can’t back out of that.”

“Oh...right. I still can’t _believe_ you’re interning with _the_ Tony Stark!” Ned grinned, his voice loud and excited, and Peter quickly shushed him with a frantic look.

“Ned!” he hissed. “Keep it down! I don’t want to draw too much attention to it.”

“Why not?” Ned asked, lowering his voice. “It’s so cool! I’d want to tell _everyone_ if it were me. I mean, he literally bought you pizza!”

“Yeah, I know, I _know_ ,” Peter murmured, casting a glance around the hall to ensure nobody was listening in. “But most interns aren’t in high school and _most_ interns don’t work directly with Mr. Stark. People would think it was suspicious. I don’t want that kind of attention, alright? And besides,” he shut his locker, wincing when the metal clang reverberated in his ears, “nobody would believe me, even if I _did_ want to tell people. I can settle for people thinking I’ve just got a regular internship over there. Plus I’m pretty sure the NDA I signed would screw me over if I say the wrong thing.”

“NDA?”

“Non-disclosure agreement.” Peter zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder while Ned squinted at him curiously. “I guess I might be working with some confidential stuff in the labs, so there’s all sorts of rules about keeping quiet.”

“Ohhh, right.” Ned nodded in understanding. “Especially if you’re working in... _his_ lab.” He emphasized ‘his’ with a wink and a grin.

“Exactly.”

Peter wasn’t exactly lying. Mr. Stark _had_ mentioned an NDA he’d need to sign, and he _would_ be in the man’s lab, at least a little bit. Before they had arrived back at the Parkers’ apartment Sunday evening, Tony had explained that he would work out a schedule for Peter to stop by the Tower for suit repairs, tech updates, and general check-ins. For now it was every Friday afternoon right after school, but that would probably change at some point. Mr. Stark had also taken Peter’s new suit for the week–

_“I’m not about to let you go running around Queens in this thing when I haven’t had a chance to double-check and make sure everything is running smoothly after what happened in Germany. You’ll get it back when you show up on Friday. And don’t even THINK about galavanting off in that onesie of yours–”_

_“It’s not a onesie!”_

_“–when you’re still healing from the beatdown Rogers and Lang gave you. One week. The city will survive a single week without Spider-Man, alright? Take a breather, get caught up in school, and we’ll talk Friday. Comprende?”_

–and while Peter hadn’t been completely happy with having to hang up his webs for a whole week, he was also way too happy to know that Mr. Stark was letting him keep the suit. It was an invaluable gift that he couldn’t even _begin_ to repay, not in a million years.

“How about you come over to my place tomorrow?” Peter suggested to Ned instead, weaving his way through the crowded hall of students all trying to leave for the day. “I heard there’s a Harry Potter Marathon on SyFy starting tomorrow morning, and even though we don’t do commercials ever since the Binge-Trek Pact of 2013–”

“No pauses, no breaks. We die like men,” Ned agreed sagely.

“–it’s got me in a wizarding world mood. I’ve got all the DVD’s. Whaddaya say? Potter-thon?”

“Oh, I’m _always_ up for Potter-thon,” Ned agreed eagerly. “Are we going full-wizard this time? Or Muggle-mode?”

“Muggle. Skip the robes,” Peter winced. “I think mine still has a tear in it from when we tried to make that short film last year.”

“Ohhhh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“I’ll buy some snacks on my way home today if you can bring some two-liters?” Peter suggested. He was smiling now, much of his earlier headache reduced to a low throbbing behind his eyes. Ned always had a way of lifting his spirits.

“I think I still have some from the LEGO night we didn’t do last month,” Ned shrugged. “I’m still sorry I had to cancel that, by the way.”

“Dude, you already apologized, like, a hundred times,” Peter rolled his eyes. He hiked his backpack higher up his shoulder, remembering at the last second to make it look like he was straining under the weight. “It’s not your fault you got sick, Ned.”

“I know, but I still wish it could’ve been a different day.”

They had reached the front doors of the school at this point, and Peter had to brace himself against the sunlight that cut across his face when Ned led them both out onto the front steps. Yet another reason why his heightened senses were both a blessing and a curse. He squinted, holding up a hand to shield his eyes, and he paused just outside the door - something he regretted a moment later when someone shoved him roughly out of the way from behind.

“Move it, dickwad,” came an all-too-familiar jeering voice, and it was only thanks to his quick reflexes that Peter didn’t do a full face plant on the concrete. “Wow, Parker, did you forget how to walk?”

Ignoring the chorus of laughter from Flash and his lackeys, Peter swallowed a sigh and hunched his shoulders. It wasn’t worth getting into it with Flash right now. Or ever, really. Flash’s jabs were never particularly biting, and even if Peter earned the occasional shoulder-check in the hall or outside school, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He was Spider-Man. He could handle the minor annoyance that was Flash Thompson. Better him than some other poor kid who didn’t have Peter’s strength or healing factor.

“Have you still not told a teacher about Flash?” Ned asked in an undertone, his brows furrowed in mild concern as he and Peter made their way down the steps.

“No,” Peter mumbled, still squinting against the sunlight. He kept his eyes on his feet in an attempt to keep his face in shadow. “There’s no point. It doesn’t bother me that much. Besides, I’d rather it be me than you, or someone else. It’s not a big deal.”

“Peter–”

“Mr. Parker?”

Peter jerked his head up at the familiar voice. Along the street in front of the school, a very familiar black car sat parked with its driver standing on the curb. Happy was leveling him a vaguely annoyed look (Was that just his default facial expression? Did he have Resting Irritated Face?) and as Peter approached the bottom of the stairs, Happy opened the back door of the car.

“Hey Happy,” Peter smiled, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mr. Stark didn’t tell me–”

“Get in, kid, I’m your chauffeur today,” Happy cut him off with a huff. “Apparently this is gonna be a regular part of my job now - _yay me_ \- so try not to be late, got it?”

“R-Right, of course.” Peter glanced from Happy to Ned, who was staring at the sleek black car with wide-eyed and slack-jawed surprise.

“You get car rides from Tony Stark’s head of security?!” Ned hissed, his excitement palpable.

“Not by choice,” Happy grunted.

“L-Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Peter said quickly, already catching the wayward eyes of some of his fellow students that had begun to trickle his way. “Show up whenever. You know me, I don’t really care if you wake me up.”

“Oh! Yeah! Sounds good!” Ned was grinning like an idiot, clearly a little starstruck by the entire situation, but he still stepped into his and Peter’s complicated handshake with half-distracted ease when Peter initiated it. “I’ll try to remember to bring your Ravenclaw blanket back too. I think I’ve had it for–”

“Over a month?” Peter said for him, grinning. “Yeah, I know.”

“Parker, just get in the car,” Happy groused. “The boss is waiting for you.”

“Sorry!” Peter stepped back from Ned and ducked into the back seat of the car, tossing his heavy backpack onto the seat beside him. He barely got the chance to wave goodbye to his best friend before the door clicked shut.

The ride to the tower was mostly uneventful. It only took about twenty minutes to get there with the slightly busy midday traffic, and though Peter attempted to ask Happy about his day and start a conversation, it took all of two minutes for Happy to close the divider between the front and back of the car. After that, Peter found himself switching between scrolling through his phone and doodling new Spider-Man suit designs. Not that he needed a new one, now that Mr. Stark had made him one, but it was a habit that he’d picked up ever since making his first suit...the one that Mr. Stark teasingly called a “onesie”. Before receiving the suit Mr. Stark had gifted him, Peter had always had much better ideas for what he wanted his suit to look like on paper, but in reality, with a tight budget and almost no sewing skills, he had long since settled for keeping his current costume until he had an income of his own. Or until he could take a sewing class. Maybe both.

There was one notable positive part of the car ride. Maybe it was because it was Mr. Stark’s car, or maybe it was just because it was a nice car in general, but riding in the black Audi had helped immensely with Peter’s overstimulated senses. The world outside was muffled and the windows were tinted, and with the divider shut, the backseat had an extra buffer against external sound and light. By the time Avengers Tower - no, _Stark_ Tower, Peter reminded himself - rose above the city skyline in the distance, his headache was almost completely gone.

As they approached the block upon which the building sat, Peter couldn’t help the giddy excitement that began to bubble up in his chest. He had been here already, of course...but that was a week ago, and that was only _one visit_. Somehow he got the feeling the thrill of being able to visit the tower wouldn’t be fading for quite some time.

Happy pulled around the building toward the familiar back entrance, the private one that they had used the last time Peter had been here.

“Since you don’t have a security badge yet, I’ll bring you up myself,” Happy said as he parked, his voice carrying through the now-open divider that Peter hadn’t even realized had been lowered. “In the future, FRIDAY will know you well enough to let you come up on your own. But even so...if the timing works out we should have a badge ready for you before you leave today. Just because the AI knows you doesn’t mean you get special treatment. Everyone wears a badge. No exceptions. Just don’t let Tony forget to get it to you, got it?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond in affirmation, but Happy was already out of the car. Not wanting to get left behind, Peter quickly did the same, dragging his backpack with him as he shoved open his car door. He swung the bag over his shoulder (wincing at the seam he could hear pop in the shoulder strap near his ear when he did; maybe he needed to save up for a more heavy-duty school bag? If he didn’t just end up losing it, that is…) and darted after Happy, who was halfway to the elevator doors.

The first time Peter had taken an elevator up from the garage, Tony had been leading the group. It had taken nothing more than a small wave and a smile-decked greeting to FRIDAY (or at least, to the nearest security camera she was watching them through) for the elevator to open before him. Despite the fact that they were using a different elevator than last time (why did Mr. Stark even need two elevators from the same garage?), this time was fairly similar, with Happy needing to do nothing more than press the button beside the double doors with half a glance toward that same camera. Peter couldn’t help wondering how the security system worked down here.

“So...wait, if FRIDAY will know me, why do I need a ba–”

“Because _everyone_ needs a badge,” Happy repeated, casting what looked like an annoyed sideways glance in Peter’s direction. The doors opened and they stepped inside the elevator. Peter noticed that it was both larger and nicer than the one from last week. “Bring us up to Tony, FRIDAY.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Hogan._ ”

“Look, when you’re down here,” Happy went on, “the required clearance level is high enough that nobody else can even access this _parking garage_ without the right security clearance. Namely nobody but Tony, Pepper, _me_ , the Avengers, and whatever members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Tony still has in the system. Plus a handful of others.” Happy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to hash out the finer details of who’s who on Tony’s guest list, alright? Point is, your security checkpoint for this entrance is at the gate to the parking garage, and seeing as I’ve been with you both times as your driver, I’ve done it _for_ you. If you go in the front door you’ll _need a badge_. Technically, yes, FRIDAY would recognize you and maybe she’d let you breeze by with no problem, but I can’t make exceptions. Especially not for some snot-nosed kid.”

Peter spluttered.

“Wh– I - I’m _not_ a–”

“You’re under twenty. To me, you’re a kid. And if the professionals working in the building see that you’re allowed in with no issue when I make _them_ wear badges around the clock, you’re gonna start getting unwanted attention. Especially seeing as the only people who are let in without question and without a badge tend to be Tony, Pepper, and the other Avengers.”

Peter stared up at the head of security for a long moment before letting his jaw click shut. Oh. Right. Good point. Considering Peter was already wary about telling people at _school_ about what exactly he did for his internship, letting the whole Stark Industries building know that something was up would certainly garner the exact kind of attention Peter was hoping to avoid.

The less he did to draw connections between Peter Parker and Spider-Man, the better.

“Right.”

When the elevator doors opened, it was to a very different floor than the one he had been bought to during his last visit. There was a kitchen off to his left and a seating area of sorts, with a cluster of four or five used coffee mugs sitting near a self-automated coffee maker on the counter. A handful of expensive-looking motorcycles were off to his right behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of a room that looked like a garage - a row of bikes in various states of repair, some vintage and some new, none of which Peter could even _begin_ to try to name - and directly in front of him was a glass door set into a mixed metal and glass wall, very similar to the ones that existed in the Avengers labs downstairs. Even from here, Peter could hear music blasting in the room beyond, and he found himself biting back a groan.

He really wasn’t in the mood for loud noises today.

“Head on in,” Happy told him, tapping his shoulder and walking him towards the door. “I’ll punch in my code for you, but ask Tony to set one up for you first thing. I won’t be coming all the way up next time.”

Peter nodded with a weak smile and breathy chuckle. Right. His own code. To Tony Stark’s personal lab. _Insane_.

Just as he’d said he would, Happy typed a code into the digital keypad in the glass beside the door, and Peter heard a pleasant chirp when the door unlocked. Then he pulled it open, letting the almost painfully loud chords of what Peter thought _might_ be something by AC/DC escape into the space beyond, and before Peter really had any say in the matter he was being ushered into the room by a firm hand on his back. The door shut behind him with a quiet _click_.

If the music weren’t so loud and if he didn’t feel as though every sound was pressing in against his eardrums, Peter would probably have been a little more impressed by what he saw inside. Tony’s lab was _insane_. It was absolutely massive, with multiple workbenches and glass monitors scattered around the space, most surfaces covered with circuit boards and metal scraps and wires and tools of all varieties. There was something that looked like the remnants of a leg from an Iron Man suit on a far table, and in the corner two robots seemed to be fighting over a flashlight and a plastic blender cup filled with something Peter didn’t recognize. A door in the left wall seemed to lead to a chemistry lab, and far to the right was a futuristic-looking garage door...which, Peter assumed, probably led to that room he had seen on his way in, the one that looked like a garage. (How Mr. Stark got all those motorcycles in there was anyone’s guess, but he was sure he’d figure it out soon enough.)

With a quick look around, it took a little more effort than Peter thought it might to find Mr. Stark. Instead of the suit he had been wearing when they first met, or the leather jacket and denims he had been in at the hotel, Tony looked almost normal in his faded, grease-stained band t-shirt and worn jeans. He was perched on a wheeled chair with a pair of goggles over his eyes, leaning over what looked like half-finished robotic parts, with the transparent monitor in front of him alive with charts and numbers.

“ _The most recent simulations show that attempting to cut down on response time using your current method wouldn’t improve the results as much as you would like._ ”

“Yeah, I’ve already figured that out, FRI,” Tony shook his head at the AI. “You’re a step behind me.”

Peter approached with an air of uncertainty, clutching at his backpack strap with one hand while the other fisted in his hoodie pocket. He didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Stark, but he _was_ supposed to be here today. Mr. Stark had told him to show up.

“ _I’d suggest taking a break for a while so you can return with fresh eyes? I’m sure Colonel Rhodes wouldn’t mind waiting another day, seeing as he’s still utilizing your first prototype in recovery._ ”

“I don’t need a break. That’s what caffeine is for.”

“ _Maybe. But you should say hello at least, it’s a bit rude not to._ ”

“Say hello to–?”

Peter stifled a laugh at the AI’s smartass comment, a laugh which didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Stark. The man’s head snapped up, his eyes catching sight of Peter, and Peter could see his eyes widen for a fraction of a second behind his goggles.

“–well, shit.”

* * *

Tony hadn’t intended to get so wrapped up in his work. (He never did, really.) After the meeting with Pepper and the legal team, another discussion about the amendments for the Sokovia Accords, Tony had gotten a call from Rhodey, who was still in the midst of recovery up at the compound. Which, of course, led him back to his lab, where he was now working on a new, updated prototype for the braces that would give his best friend his legs back.

The day of the week had completely slipped his mind.

Which meant, of course, that he had _completely_ forgotten Peter Parker was supposed to be coming over.

“–well, shit.” Tony yanked the goggles off his head and tossed them onto the workbench, setting aside his tools and tapping a few controls on the screen to cut the music. Then he spun his chair to face Peter. “How long have you been standing there, kid?”

“About twelve seconds,” Peter shrugged, smiling sheepishly at him. “Happy just dropped me off, sir.”

“Oh, _god_ , what did I say about calling me ‘sir’,” Tony pulled a face, mock-gagging as he stood from his work station. “It’s just Mr. Stark, or Tony if you can manage it.”

Peter giggled - _actually giggled, what the fuck_ \- and ducked his head.

“Right, sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Better.”

Tony glanced aside toward the half-finished prosthesis, a touch of longing dancing in the back of his mind...then he clapped his hands together and grinned.

“Alright! Welcome to the lab!” He held his arms out, presenting the rather chaotic space around him. “Before we do anything, I need a cup of coffee, so I’m gonna hit the kitchen first. Feel free to look around for a minute - just don’t touch too much, alright? Some of my projects have a tendency to explode–” (Peter snorted, a spark in his eyes that Tony was all-too-familiar with) “–and when I get back, I’ll give you the full tour. Sound good?”

“That sounds great,” Peter grinned. There was a note of awe in his voice, a touch of that wonder lighting up his eyes that Tony remembered from showing the kid the Avengers labs.

“Fantastic.” Tony headed for the door, turning backwards at the last second to point at Peter. “Want anything? Water? Coke? Juice box? Four large pizzas? A pile of burgers?”

“I-I’m fine!” Peter spun on the spot to smile sheepishly at him. “I don’t need–”

“You’ll be here for a few hours at least,” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Let me help you fight back against that Speedy Gonzales metabolism. Consider it part of your paycheck.”

“My...paycheck…?” And now Peter had gone wide-eyed, that bambi-in-the-headlights look back on his face, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“If giving you _food_ is gonna be like pulling teeth, I can’t _imagine_ what you’re going to be like when I want to give you _actual_ gifts. Give me your drink order, and I’ll order us some burgers from downstairs.”

Peter seemed to squeak, rocking back on his heels, but after a few moments of silent, goldfish-like mouth movements, he finally managed to stammer out:

“That’s - u-um - I usually, uh, just–” He shrugged. “...just coke, is fine? I mean, I like other things too - like I _love_ this really awesome oranges-and-cream soda they sell at Delmar’s Deli, in Queens? I think it’s called _Teddy’s_ or something, but it’s _amazing_ , and…” Then the teen trailed off, as though finally realizing who he was talking to, and went a brilliant shade of pink. “...coke’s fine. And I eat anything. I’m fine with anything on a burger.”

Tony smirked, turning back to the door.

“Got it. Six burgers, three fries, and a large coke. Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone.”

Without bothering to wait for what Tony was sure would be a rambling and stutter-filled response from Peter, he pulled out his phone as the door swung shut behind him.

“FRIDAY?” he spoke up, scrolling through his messages from Pepper and a few emails on his way to the kitchen. “Could you order up some food for us? You heard Parker.”

“ _The usual, I presume, with Mr. Parker’s add-ons? Seven burgers, four fries, a large coke, and a basket of onion rings?_ ”

“That’ll do it. And don’t bother having someone bring it up, I want to show the Spiderling the food court.”

“ _I’ll let you know when it’s ready_.”

“You’re my girl.”

With a brief smile toward the nearest camera, Tony started up the Keurig on the counter to make a fresh cup of coffee, barely glancing at the cluster of used mugs already accumulating on the counter. Only one or two were from today, the rest from the past few days combined. If Pepper had had the time to stop by his lab, she would have noticed the copious remains of caffeine slowly piling up in the kitchen, but Tony found he didn’t quite care. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping well lately, and with everything that had to be done, the stress on his plate and on his mind was monumental.

With a tired sigh, Tony sank into the nearest armchair, fiddling with his StarkPhone with no goal in mind.

Rhodey, of course, was ever at the forefront of his worries. His best friend had been downed only a week ago, and though Tony’s work on the prosthesis currently sitting in his lab would more than make up for James’ lack of mobility, there was still a guilty knot in his chest that he couldn’t quite dislodge. Rhodey went down in _his_ suit, in a suit that Tony had designed. Already he was working on incorporating an emergency power supply into his next design so that nothing like what happened in Germany would _ever_ happen again...but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Tony should have been smart enough to realize the severe vulnerability that was created by having the suit’s power source in such plain sight with no other backup in the case of damage. Hell, Tony had been flying around with an arc reactor powering his _heart_ for years before he even thought of giving the suits their own power source. If Tony hadn’t had the surgery to remove the shrapnel from his heart before now, if he had still been reliant on the arc reactor when he went to Siberia–

Tony’s chest tightened and his eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching as he forced the thought away. One hand flew up to his chest, massaging over the still-healing bruises that had been left there by Steve’s - _Rogers’_ \- shield. _Fuck_. With a deep, aching breath, Tony forced himself to pull back to the present. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in his thoughts. Not today. The kid was in the next room.

The coffee machine beeped happily and Tony dragged himself to his feet, plucking the now-filled coffee mug from the drip tray it was sitting on and adding cream and sugar by instinct alone.

The Accords. That was the other thing that had been taking up most of his mental energy lately. Writing the amendments was for a good reason, Tony was well aware of that. The Accords needed to be changed. There was an enhanced teenager standing in his lab right now that could prove it, as if Wanda and Bruce and, sure, _Rogers_ , weren’t proof enough. Pepper, with the legal team at her back, had already been making fantastic progress. Tony had laid out some of his thoughts in meetings over the past week and Pepper had bounced back with some of her own, and between them they had come up with some fairly acceptable compromises where the restrictions for enhanced beings were concerned.

The first alteration had been to the paragraph detailing the registration, monitoring, and tracking of enhanced individuals. Upon re-reading it, Tony had realized fairly quickly that the Accords painted anyone with enhanced abilities as outcasts and criminals that weren’t to be trusted.

“I understand the need to keep an eye on people with superpowers,” Tony had said to Pepper during one of their earliest meetings. “But - as much as I hate to say it - Rogers may have been right about some things. _Some_ things. Like Wanda. I don’t want to see her tagged and tracked like - like a _criminal_. She isn’t one. Or, hell, _Bruce._ Ninety percent of the reason he was hiding in Kolkata was because he didn’t want Ross of all people finding him again. He wasn’t seen as a person by Ross, he was seen as a tool, a weapon, and it’s disgusting. Keeping an eye on enhanced criminals is one thing, but if we start tracking people who want to help, then we’re alienating the very allies that I want the Accords to help protect.”

Which, of course, led Tony to his next argument:

“The Avengers have to be held accountable for our actions, I still believe that...but working _with_ the governments of the world is a lot different than working _for_ them. It’s written in a very clever way here, look, this bit, right here - it’s no wonder I didn’t notice it the first time I read through it. I’ll bet you _anything_ Ross contributed to it. Here, you, guy with the red tie. Yeah. You. See what you can come up with to re-word it - maybe we can appoint a liaison between the Avengers and the United Nations…”

And later, when he remembered Peter Parker:

“I’m not letting anyone under eighteen sign this thing. There are laws that protect minors, and whether that minor is enhanced or not, that fact shouldn’t change. Anybody under eighteen is a kid, and I’m not putting _kids_ at the mercy of the United Nations.”

And:

“Secret identities exist for a reason. I understand if the government needs to know who these people are in the off chance that they turn against the side of the light, but there has to be some protection for those who don’t want their identity revealed to the world. I mean, these people have families. Look at Clint Barton. Unless every hero on the planet is going to make their family go underground for protection, it’s a little difficult to keep them safe when the villains know the name of who they’re fighting against. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

There were still a lot of kinks to work out, a lot of specifics that needed to be discussed before any sort of final draft was submitted to the UN, but already Tony was feeling better about their chances of getting the new amendments put into place. Natasha and Rhodey would back him, he knew that, and his name held a lot of sway as it was. He had been the first to sign the Accords, the first to approve of them, so that certainly stood for something in the eyes of the UN. And if they refused to listen...well. Tony would just have to give them a reason to.

With a sniff, Tony finished stirring his coffee and tossed the spoon in the sink, pocketing one hand as he took a long sip from the mug. He strolled back towards the lab where Peter was still waiting, hopefully in one piece.

* * *

Peter knew Mr. Stark had told him not to mess with anything. He _knew_ that. But the project on his workbench was fascinating, drawing Peter in and pulling his technological curiosity to the forefront.

“Hey...FRIDAY?” he hazarded, still not completely used to speaking with the AI. He dumped his backpack beside the workbench as he stepped closer.

“ _Yes, Mr. Parker?_ ”

“Oh - uh–” Peter smiled softly at the ceiling. “Just...just Peter, is fine.”

“ _Peter then. How can I help you, Peter?_ ”

“I was just wondering what Mr. Stark was working on…?”

“ _That would be the second prototype for leg braces for Colonel Rhodes._ ”

Oh. _Oh_. Now that he looked at it, Peter could definitely see what it was, could see the exposed inner workings of joints and sensors that Mr. Stark must have been working on.

“Second prototype?” Peter asked, carefully sitting down in Tony’s chair and spinning to face the workbench, leaning in to get a close look at the clean detailing and intricacies of the wiring and motors. Mr. Stark really had a skill for this kind of thing. “What’s wrong with the first one?”

“ _The Boss wishes to improve response times from the control interface to the hydraulics and motors, but his most recent attempts haven’t been very successful. Personally, I believe he needs to come back to it later with fresh eyes._ ”

“Fresh eyes, huh?” Peter mumbled, his brow furrowed as he examined Tony’s handiwork. It was beautiful, in a way. The careful placement of wires and soldering, the streamlined use of hydraulics, the sleek external appearance…

...except...Peter frowned. With the way it had been wired around the knee joint, Peter was beginning to see why the previous prototype would be having issues with response times. Without really thinking, Peter picked up the tools Tony had set aside, carefully rearranging some of his mentor’s work in an attempt to fix the issue he had been struggling with.

“ _Peter, may I request that you follow standard safety procedures? Boss wouldn’t be happy if you lost an eye._ ”

“O-Oh, right.” Peter flinched back from the prosthesis, his eyes darting to the ceiling. “...you don’t mind that I’m working on this?”

“ _It hasn’t been marked as classified._ ”

...close enough, Peter supposed. He quickly snatched Mr. Stark’s goggles from the workbench and slipped them on, getting right back to work without a second thought. It was just a pair of braces, what’s the worst that could happen?

It had been a while since Peter had been this invested in a project. He often salvaged and upgraded old technology - DVD players, cell phones, laptops - or used their parts for fun side projects. But being able to work on something _this_ intricate wasn’t part of his usual dumpster haul. It was like being in robotics, except Mr. Hapgood could never get the funds for materials or tools of this quality. It was like a dream. His mind was racing a mile a minute, his hands moving before the next step was even fully formed in his mind. Rewire here, solder there, reconfigure a little coding to accommodate, and–

“Jesus _Christ_ , Parker, what did I say?!”

Tony’s voice came out of nowhere, all of Peter’s senses having been so dialed into his project that he hadn’t even heard the man enter the room. He flinched back, the soldering iron jerking in his hand, his opposite fingers curling instinctively around one of the wires he had been attempting to reconnect, and before Peter could even utter a response Tony was grabbing Peter’s wrist and pulling it upward and away from the prototype with the soldering iron still in his grip. The buzz of a warning at the back of his skull came and went quicker than Peter could respond to it, his eyes wide beneath the goggles as he stared up into his mentor’s half-annoyed, half-bewildered expression.

“Are you _trying_ to electrocute yourself?” Tony snapped, prying to soldering iron from Peter’s grip with the hand not clutching the teen’s wrist. “I leave you alone for five minutes–”

“I-I wasn’t gonna electrocute myself!” Peter protested, finally letting go of the wire he had been holding onto a little too tightly. “I knew what I was–”

“Parker, you were about to solder two wires together that really shouldn’t have been touching in the first place.”

“No I–” ...wait. Was he? Peter glanced back toward his work, his face flushing once he realized he had been about to connect a _yellow_ wire when he had been intending to connect the orange one beside it. “–it was the other one.”

“No shit, _Sherlock_ ,” Tony muttered. He pried the goggles from Peter’s face and dumped them on the workbench, beside the soldering iron that he had already unplugged. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but until I know the extent of your skills, I don’t want you messing with anything like this when I’m not around. Don’t make me pull out a pinky-swear. That’s when you know I’m serious.”

Peter’s brow furrowed, staring incredulously at Mr. Stark for a moment, but the man’s pointed stare had Peter nodding anyway.

“Yes, Mr. Stark. Sorry, I - I was just–”

“Tinkering,” Tony finished for him. “Without me here.”

“Well…yeah…”

Peter squirmed in his seat, his knee bouncing, his sneaker squeaking quietly against the floor beneath him. He glanced from Tony, to the wires, to his lap and back again, not quite sure what else to say. Mr. Stark looked a little miffed and noticeably unimpressed, but he didn’t exactly look _angry_. So...did that count as a win? Was Peter okay?

Finally, Tony sighed and dragged his hands over his face.

“Alright, let me give you the grand tour, and once we’re done I’ll go over basic safety rules for the labs. Which - might I add - are non-negotiable, or I’m revoking lab privileges, and you’ll have to watch me work on your suit without you from behind that glass wall.” He pointed toward the door, and Peter’s eyes widened, his ears catching a few words that stood out against the rest.

“You...you’re gonna let me work on the suit with you…?”

“Is that the _only_ thing you heard?”

“No! No, right, s-sorry, safety rules. Right. Got it. Non-negotiable.” Peter nodded quickly. Then: “...but...are you really gonna let me–”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony scoffed incredulously. “You’ll be the one wearing it, Webhead. Of course you’ll be involved in repairs and upgrades.”

_Upgrades. Oh my god, his suit might get upgrades, and he might be able to help work on them. Ned wouldn’t believe him in a million years_.

Peter gazed up at Tony with an expression of utter awe on his face, his excitement palpable even though his lips had barely curled into a wonder-filled smile. Even if it was technically fake, Peter could already tell that this “Stark internship” thing was going to be a whole lot of fun.

“This is the main tech lab, or the catch-all for anything that isn’t specifically mechanics- or chemistry-based,” Tony said once he had started leading Peter through the room. “I’m sure you probably already figured this out, but it’s where I do most of my work. And it’s where we’ll work on your suit, so I’m sure you’ll find your way around in no time.”

They approached the pair of robotic arms that Peter had seen fighting over the smoothie cup earlier.

“First things first, these two idiots are Dum-E and U,” Tony introduced them, pointing them out. “I made Dum-E back in college - when I was around your age, actually - and U is his equally bothersome younger brother. They managed to _mostly_ survive my house in Malibu being blown up, so apparently they’re pretty resilient.” Dum-E lifted the plastic blender cup toward Tony, who held up his hands. “Nope. No. _What_ did I say? I don’t want it. It _clearly_ has motor oil in it, and you know what happened last time you tricked me into drinking one of those. No. Nuh-uh.”

The robot made a low whine of sadness, his arm drooping toward the floor. Peter let out a soft, sympathetic chuckle, but Tony was moving them along again before he could ask more about the robots. _Maybe later_.

“Anyway, we’ve got workbenches all over the place, and these few–” he pointed them out, “–double as holo-desks. FRIDAY can actually create holograms in almost any part of the room, but those ones have their own hologram systems built in, which means it’s great for blueprints since the localized light source makes the images more compact and gives you higher detail.”

Tony went on like that for about twenty minutes, pointing out the row of larger machines along the side wall near the doors to the chemistry lab - “I tend to just use those for working with new Stark Industries tech that the R&D department sends me for final testing.” - and the sleek black metal-and-glass encased servers standing high in the opposite corner - “I’ve got private servers, seeing as there are still some things I like to keep to myself. Stark Industries and the Avengers don’t need to know everything I know. Heck, I’ve got your bio-scans saved up here, and that’s not something anyone else needs to see but me and you.” - and even gave a brief rundown of what was in the other rooms, though they didn’t enter either of them. “The chem lab is in the back. If you ever need to, you can make more web fluid in there.” - and - “You saw the bikes in the shop on your way in, right? There’s a reason the private elevators are so big, kid. I’ve actually got a second garage-slash-shop in the basement of the tower, since I can’t exactly bring full-sized cars upstairs…”

Peter marvelled at each new sight, his eyes widening in awe when the massive curved wall he had assumed was made entirely of geometrically-detailed stainless steel or titanium alloy sank down into the floor to reveal a full wall of windows, all looking down onto the bustling city below. Mr. Stark claimed he usually liked to work in a setting with controlled lighting, so the metal blockade was up almost all the time during daylight hours, but when night fell he would sometimes drop it to let the clear night sky hover as a backdrop to his work.

Then, after giving Peter a rundown of basic safety procedures–

“Don’t work on anything alone in here unless I say you can. Don’t mess with my projects without asking. Wear goggles whenever you’re soldering, testing, working with power tools, or any time you set foot in the chem lab. I’ll add more if we need ‘em, but you seem like you’re clever enough to know what is and isn’t safe in a lab space. You’ve also got free reign of any supplies up here…”

–Tony jerked a thumb toward the back of the room, where panels were set into a vast flat section of wall. He strolled toward it as he spoke, gesturing for Peter to follow.

“You can find almost any supposed you need back here, tools as well. All you’ve got to do is ask FRIDAY. Mind opening up panel B-13 for me, FRI?”

“ _Only because you asked nicely,_ ” FRIDAY quipped, and before she was even done speaking, one of the metal panels retracted to reveal rows of built-in drawers, each labelled for a different type of wrench, ratchet, spanner, and more. With a quick glance and a nod from Tony, Peter approached the toolbox and pulled open a drawer, spotting every possible size of socket wrench he could ever possibly need.

“Anything larger is in locker B-14, right below it, but frankly I don’t think I’ve opened that panel more than a dozen times, and one of those was so I could put them there in the first place.”

“Are _all_ of these panels used for storage?” Peter breathed, glancing up from the drawer to stare down the wall, eying the multitude of unlabeled metal panels.

“Yep.” Tony walked up and patted Peter on the shoulder, closing the drawer and tugging the teen back gently. “But you’ll learn what’s what as you go. FRIDAY, close B-13. And besides, you won’t need all of them. Some of them are just for basic storage, and seeing as there are some things I rarely need to take out, it’ll never matter if you know ‘em all or not. There is _one_ I’m sure you’ll memorize fairly quickly though…”

At that, Tony guided Peter toward the center of the wall, where a dozen or so full-length panels divided the rest of the storage in half.

“FRIDAY?” Tony spoke up, and Peter could hear the smirk in his words. “Open panel A-8 for me.”

“ _Yes, sir. And might I also mention that your food is almost ready?_ ”

Peter glanced up at his mentor, his face scrunched up in curiosity, and when he switched his focus to the panel that was opening up in the wall, his jaw dropped. His suit. The spider suit The one Mr. Stark had made for him.

“I...I have my own storage locker?” he asked quietly, a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest, and he both felt and heard Tony chuckle next to him.

“Where else was I going to put it?” he asked, patting Peter on the shoulder and walking away. “We’ll take a look at it after we eat. C’mon, this way.”

Tony’s footsteps began to retreat behind Peter, heading for the door. For a moment - for a long, breathless, eager moment - Peter staring longingly at the Spider-Man suit sitting on display in front of him. It was right there, so close...but with a sigh he took one step back, then another. It wasn’t going anywhere. As impossible as it seemed - _this entire thing felt like a dream_ \- the suit would still be here, and Peter would be coming back to this lab - _Tony Stark’s personal lab_ \- after he and Mr. Stark ate lunch-slash-dinner together. In Stark Tower.

_What even was his life?_

After Mr. Stark had made sure that panel A-8 had been shut and anything potentially dangerous had been powered down in the lab, he led Peter downstairs via the elevator Peter had arrived in. Whatever Peter had been expecting when Mr. Stark said they were getting their food, it certainly hadn’t been _this_.

They had stepped off the elevator, down the hall, and straight into a food court that put all other food courts to shame. A multitude of choices were laid out before him, with round tables and surprisingly comfortable-looking chairs scattered about. Peter could see a few fountains surrounded by benches placed between the tables, a few garden islands with greenery and small trees, and the high ceilings and massive windows made the entire space feel open and light. Smells bombarded Peter’s already-overwhelmed senses, food of all varieties calling for his attention, and he took an involuntary step back in his attempt to take it all in.

“You alright there, Underoos?” Mr. Stark was a few steps ahead of him, looking back with an amused expression on his face. “I don’t want to tell May Parker I broke her kid.”

“I’m good,” he nodded, smiling weakly. “It’s just - _wow_. It’s...it’s a lot.”

“Yeah, it can be,” Tony shrugged, pocketing his hands. “Pepper designed this floor though, so really, it’s her fault.”

“With your influence, I bet, if it’s _this_ extra,” Peter said before he could really stop himself. He snapped his mouth shut the moment it was out, but his momentary panic was apparently unwarranted because something about what he’d said had Tony laughing in quiet surprise.

“I mean - I can’t lie, I did want this place to look impressive,” Tony admitted with a grin. He started off across the food court with Peter at his heels. “I knew I’d be down here constantly once I moved into the tower full-time. Sure, it was designed for employees, but I wanted it to be badass. Plus I might have poached about half the restaurants here from all over the country because I didn’t want to fly to Cali or New Orleans or even Washington D.C. just to get some of my favorite dishes, so I brought the dishes to me.”

Peter stared at him, his spidey-sense being the only reason he didn’t trip over the edge of a planter as he did so.

“You just - wait, you just decided, ‘Hey, I like this restaurant, I want it in my Tower’ and they just...did it??”

“Well, when you offer to pay them as much as I did to get ‘em here?” Tony grinned slyly down at his protege. “They almost never say no.”

For the briefest of moments, Peter wondered if he could convince Mr. Stark to get Delmar’s to move into the tower too…but then he realized that would mean Mr. Delmar wouldn’t be in Queens anymore, which would be a bit of a shame. Even if Peter would see him all the time at the tower, he wasn’t selfish enough to take the deli owner away from the rest of the friendly people that had become regulars at his shop back home. That wasn’t fair to anyone.

“Dr. Stark!” A woman’s voice cropped up from a nearby table, and before Peter could get a good look at who it was, a curly-haired brunette in a lab coat had risen from the table and hurried to where Tony had paused mid-stride. “Do you have a moment?”

“If it’s quick, sure,” Tony checked his watch. “Mr. Parker and I are on our way to pick up a late lunch.”

“Parker?” The woman glanced sideways at Peter, curiosity lighting up her expression behind the octagonal glasses she wore. “A family friend?”

“Intern, actually,” Tony corrected. “On a trial period.”

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Parker,” the woman smiled and extended her hand. Peter was quick to accept the handshake with a smile of his own. “I’m Dr. Olivia Octavius, biotech research and development. Perhaps I’ll see you on my floor sometime.”

“Oh, yeah! Sure! It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Hey. Don’t go stealing my potential intern,” Tony cut in with a sniff and a sharp look, but his expression held no real heat. “Get your own.” Then before Dr. Octavius could offer a response he added: “Wasn’t there something you needed to ask me?”

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Dr. Octavius grinned, her focus returning to Tony. “We have a few new designs for robotic hand prostheses we’d like you to take a look at soon, if you have the time. Dr. Ferguson is feeling positive about the progress we’ve made, but she and I both agreed it wouldn’t hurt to get a second look.”

“Sure,” Tony smiled brightly. It wasn’t like his normal smile, Peter noticed. This was one Peter had seen on TV and in magazines and newspapers for years, but now that he knew the man, he was slowly becoming aware of the fact that the smile he wore in private was much more _real_. This was his media face, Peter realized. A facade. “Go ahead and shoot me an email. FRIDAY will keep an eye out for it, and I’ll let you know when I’m free in the next week or so to stop by your labs.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Octavius’ expression brightened and she clapped her hands together. “I’ll be sure to get in touch. Thank you, Dr. Stark. We always appreciate your input.”

“Happy to help.”

With one last photo-worthy smile, Tony left Dr. Octavius behind. Before Peter could follow him, Dr. Octavius touched his arm to stop him.

“Parker, right?” she asked, and Peter nodded silently, his brow furrowed. She eyed him curiously, searching his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to a Mary Parker, would you?”

Peter’s heart lurched in his chest, his breath catching.

“I...y-yeah, she - that was my mom’s name.”

“I thought so.” Dr. Octavius smiled softly, sadly. “You look a little like her, you know. She was a brilliant biologist. I worked beneath her at Oscorp for a few years after she transferred from Stark Industries. It was sad to lose such a brilliant mind so soon.”

She...wait, what? Peter stared at Dr. Octavius for a moment, confusion flooding him. His mom had worked for SI? Why hadn’t he known that? It was true that May and Ben didn’t talk about his parents much, not unless he asked about them, but he had known his mother was a scientist. It was part of the reason he had been so interested in science and technology in the first place. Why had her job at Stark Industries never come up?

“Parker? Keep up, kid, the burgers are getting cold.”

... _had Mr. Stark known her?_

Dr. Octavius had already returned to her table, so Peter darted off after his mentor without another word in her direction, his thoughts running a mile a minute. _His mom had worked here._ And now, at least in some ways, Peter did too.

* * *

Tony had been keeping a slightly closer eye on Peter since he had practically recoiled at the entrance to the food court, a sort of unbidden concern itching at the back of his mind that he certainly hadn’t asked for. Not that he didn’t care about the kid - he wouldn’t have invited Peter to stop by the tower on a weekly basis if he didn’t at least care a little - but Peter was also a teenager with super strength. He could handle a damn food court without Tony watching him like a hawk.

That thought didn’t seem quite so strong after speaking with Olivia Octavius, however. Tony hadn’t heard what the woman had said to Peter after he had walked away, but an odd, thoughtful, _lost_ sort of look had been on Peter’s face ever since. That, combined with the fact that the kid seemed to be flinching at any sound above speaking level, and the little worrying itch at the corner of Tony’s focus couldn’t quite shut up.

The first thing that had managed to change Peter’s expression to something more sharp and interested was the mention of the Spider-Man suit, something which Tony casually brought up in the elevator on the way back to the lab. Peter had looked up at him with a sort of spark in his eyes, the same one that kept cropping up whenever he was babbling on about science or Star Wars or Spider-Man. Excitement, Tony realized. Pure, eager, passion-fueled excitement for something that interested him...for something he loved wholeheartedly.

It was kind of adorable.

By the time they had finished eating, a collection of wadded-up burger wrappers piled before them on the only empty workbench in the room, Peter was casting fleeting looks toward the storage panels so frequently Tony was surprised his neck wasn’t sore. The kid’s knee was bouncing beneath the desk, and on the fifteenth-or-so glance Peter threw over his shoulder (in an “I’m-trying-to-be-discreet-and-failing” kind of way), Tony sighed dramatically.

“Alright, alright!” he groused, “Round up your garbage and we can take a look at the suit.”

With a grin that could rival the sun, Peter immediately launched forward and swept the pile of wrappers into the empty paper bag they had come in with one arm, rolling the top down and shoving away from the desk - while still seated in his rolling chair. He sped across the room on castor wheels, slowing his momentum with one dragging sneaker as he neared the trash can, and Tony was staring flatly at him by the time he had dumped the bag of wrappers he had brought with him into the trash.

“...okay, new rule.” Tony decided, getting up from his chair and walking across the lab like a human. “Don’t do that again.” When Peter shot him a sheepish look, he added, with rolled eyes: “...at least not when I’ve got half-finished tech sitting on _every single workstation_ you passed.”

A surprised chuckle bubbled up from the kid, and by the time Tony was asking FRIDAY to open panel A-8 and pulling out the Spider-Man suit, Peter was practically buzzing. Tony laid the suit across the workstation they had eaten at, tossing the mask to Peter, who caught it with ease.

“First things first,” he said, “Tweaking the sensory input on your lenses was a bit of a rush job last week, so now it’s fixed. You’re welcome.”

Peter gaped at him, glanced between him and the mask a few times, then quickly pulled the mask on to check it out.

“How’s it look?” Tony asked.

“Uhhh…” Peter shrugged. “I mean, it seems the same. Is it–”

“FRIDAY, lights off.”

“ _Yes, Boss._ ”

The room went completely dark around Tony outside of the blinking LED’s from various machines around the lab, so it was a little difficult to see Peter’s lenses to know how the kid was reacting visually. He didn’t have to wait long however, because Peter gasped softly from somewhere in front of him.

“Wait...w-wait, did you–”

“Lights at 200%.”

Closing his eyes to prepare himself for the absolute blinding onslaught of illumination, Tony waited until he heard Peter’s giddy exclamation of “No way!” before slowly squinting his eyes open. He blinked a few times, acclimating to the bright room, then raised an eyebrow at Peter.

“So?” Tony prodded, watching the now-heavily-illuminated teen geek out while waiting for a verbal response that actually resembled words.

“You–” Peter laughed brightly. “Oh my god! They’re light-sensitive!”

“Got it in one, kid,” Tony smirked. He reached over and fussed with the suit on the workbench as he explained: “They’ll help filter out light when you need them to, with a pretty rapid-fire response time to block sudden flashes, but in the dark it’ll pull back a bit to let you see as much as possible at night. You can set it manually using voice commands, but right now it’s on autopilot.” He cast a fleeting glance toward Peter, who was reaching up to pull off his mask. “If it needs tweaking let me know, but hopefully that’ll last you unt–”

“Ah _, shit._ ” Peter had finally tugged his mask off, jerking back harshly when his eyes were met with the absolutely blinding light of the room. He quickly pressed the heels of his palms against his hurriedly-closed eyelids, blocking out what he could and swaying back on the spot.

“Oh, crap, sorry - FRIDAY?” Tony locked his eyes on Peter, that same unbidden concern flickering to life again at the back of his mind. “Lights to sixty.”

The room dimmed, and Tony watched as Peter carefully, tentatively, pulled his hands away from his face. His brows were drawn in wary uncertainty, but once he finally let his eyes open, he let out a wavering breath of utter-fucking-relief that was palpable from where Tony stood.

“Are you good?”

Peter blinked a few times, looked around, glanced at the mask still clutched in his hand, then winced at Tony.

“Yup.” He set the mask on the edge of the workbench. “Yeah, all good. Sorry. Sorry, that - I wasn’t - I didn’t think. I already had–” He gestured toward his head, his eyes, fumbling for the words. “–a headache.” He cleared his throat. “So, the suit?”

Really? Shaking his head and huffing at the obvious deflection, Tony conceded and lifted up one of the sleeves.

“Alright. I strengthened the material, so it absorbs shocks a bit better than before. We don’t need another boarding bridge bruising incident.” Peter winced beneath Tony’s pointed look. “ _But_ , I also tried to use a thinner and more malleable layering technique for the fingertips of the gloves and the soles of the boots, now that I know a bit more about your powers.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you besmirching my name at the airstrip with your comments about not sticking the landing. I see right through you, kid.”

“What?! No! No, I wasn’t - that’s not - Mr. Stark–”

“Well it worked,” Tony threw the suit at Peter’s chest. “You got my attention, I listened. I upgraded it. Now go put it on and tell me what you think before I take it back and undo all the nice features I fixed for you.”

Peter floundered, clutching the wad of red fabric, stammering out fragments of thanks and apologies, and Tony finally took pity on the kid. He smiled and shook his head, waving Peter away.

“Jesus, Underoos, I’m teasing you. Go. Get dressed. There’s a bathroom by the kitchen.”

“R-Right, okay!” Peter nodded rapidly - a total overeager puppy, Tony decided - and hurried off to try on the new suit.

Testing out the new upgrades went about as well as Tony expected. Watching Peter walking on the walls and the ceiling was still a bit surreal, even after watching him fight and catching him upside down in the hotel room. Tony gave him a half-hearted berating for getting webs on the ceiling, and after Peter scrambled through his phone to pull up his notes on dissolving agent he had made specifically for his webs, Tony was about ready to buy the kid a new phone if it meant he didn’t have to watch him scroll his thumb over dozens upon dozens of cracks in the glass.

“It’s fine, Mr. Stark, really!” Peter had insisted, smiling all the while. “I’ve got a screen protector over the cracks, it’s not sharp. B-Besides, I made it myself from spare parts, and I’ve got more at home! The...um...the screen, just - it breaks a lot, when I’m on patrol. I only replace it when I can’t use it anymore, so–”

Tony couldn’t exactly argue with the kid’s do-it-yourself mindset, but he made a mental note to start building the teen a new phone anyway. It would be easier to link a custom StarkPhone into Peter’s suit than the dumpster-dived one he had built, something that would become even more useful once he unlocked the AI that Tony had hidden away behind the Training Wheels Protocol. Perhaps he ought to tell Peter about the unlockable features he had installed? Tony pondered it for the briefest of moments, fiddling with a screwdriver between his fingers, then decided against it. Nah. The surprise would be more fun, wouldn’t it?

“Tell you what, Pete,” Tony cut off Peter’s phone-based ramblings. “You’ve got the full instructions on how to make that web dissolver on your phone, right?” Peter nodded. “Alright. FRIDAY? Grab that, if you could. Snatch it. Download it. Pull it up on monitor three.”

“ _I’ll save it to your private server. Would you like it downloaded to the Spider-Child folder?_ ”

“You know me so well, FRI. And _you_ ,” Tony pointed the screwdriver at Peter, who was shooting him a rather petulant look, probably related to his kid-centric file-naming choice. “You’re antsy. I can see it.”

“A-Antsy?”

“Don’t look so guilty, Webs.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I get it. You got a new toy and you want to go play with it.”

“I-I mean…” Peter ducked his head, shrugging. “...a little?”

“Shoo.”

“What–?”

Tony waved him away, already heading back towards the leg braces he had been working on before Peter had arrived.

“Go,” he reiterated. “Skedaddle. Go save some kittens or something.” He smirked back at Peter knowingly. “Your suit has bio-scanning in it. FRIDAY already told me you’ve practically healed since Germany. And technically you don’t have to be home until after your ‘ _internship_ ’,” he made air quotes, “is over for the day. So that gives you at least…”

Tony glanced at his watch, doing the math. It was five-thirty-ish.

“...two hours until you’re supposed to leave here, and another twenty-to-thirty minutes that it would take Happy to drive you back. Tack on whatever amount of time your aunt will let you just hang around town before coming home, get home before whatever curfew she’s got, and that gives you at least four or five hours to patrol. Right?”

Peter stared at him, his jaw slack, but Tony could spot the moment the teen registered his words because his expression began to morph into one of excitement.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, grinning. “Yeah, that - that sounds right.” He paused, looking a little unsure. “...you’re sure it’s okay that I don’t stay the whole time?”

Again, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Parker, I don’t pay you. You don’t _have_ to stay if you don’t want to be here.”

“I do want to be here!” Peter blurted, taking a few steps towards Tony. “I _do!_ It’s - this place is _amazing_. It’s just–”

“Oh, my god, _Peter_.” Tony stifled a chuckle, tossing the screwdriver he had still been toying with onto his workbench and dragging a hand through his hair. “Go on your damn patrol. Go be Spider-Man. When you get back next week, we can do more than just test your suit if that’s what you really want.”

“I do,” Peter said again, this time wringing his mask in his hands. “I-If that’s okay with you. But...um.” He shifted on the spot, his eyes darting away a few times before landing back on Tony. “...do I have to wait until Friday again?”

Tony stared at him, perplexed.

“Do you _want_ to be here more than once a week?”

Something lit up in the depths of Peter’s eyes, in his expression, in his entire presence. He was buzzing again, with something akin to hope alight in his face.

“Can I, sir?” Peter asked. The words were quiet, whispered with a sort of awe, and those damn bambi eyes were back...

_Oh, hell._

Tony swallowed a groan and closed his eyes. What did he just sign himself up for? Or perhaps the better question was, would he ever be able to say no to this damn kid?

“...oh, why not?” he sighed, and despite his reservations, he couldn’t quite quell the unexpected warmth that flooded him at the sight of Peter’s utterly exuberant grin. “I’ll text you this weekend to let you know what days work, alright? Now beat it.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And stop calling me sir!” Tony called after Peter’s retreating back as the young vigilante ran off to gather up his belongings. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, dropping into the wheeled chair he had left behind at his workstation when Peter had first shown up.

What in the world was he doing? Tony had practically promised himself he wouldn’t let himself get too close to the kid. Peter needed a guiding hand, sure - a mentor to keep an eye on him - but making sure the kid had a superhero support system was one thing. Getting attached was another. Before Germany, Tony had planned on just giving Peter the suit, telling him to check in with Happy every day, and then leaving him to do his own thing. Then Tony had wound up visiting the hotel to make sure Peter wasn’t badly injured, and somehow...something had shifted. Between sharing pizza, talking science, and seeing the bruises the kid had gotten in Berlin, he had changed his mind. He had decided that being a little more hands-on and involved when it came to Peter’s web-slinging escapades would work out better in the long run. Peter would have somewhere to go for emergencies or injuries, Tony could make sure the kid’s suit was up-to-date and fully functional, and maybe he could give Peter a proper internship down the line so he had both knowledge and experience to put on his resume for a future career. Being a superhero didn’t exactly pay the bills.

What Tony _hadn’t_ planned for was to start caring. Which he did, at least to some extent, as much as he had been trying to keep himself at an emotional distance...and he had the sneaking suspicion it had begun with gummy bears and pizza.

This damned kid.

How the hell was anyone supposed to say no to Peter Parker with that bouncy-puppy-dog bambi-eyed look on his face? Tony didn’t envy May Parker for having to raise the kid if she had to try and so no to _that_ all the time.

With a groan, Tony pulled his chair forward to examine what Peter had done to the prosthesis sitting on the workbench.

“FRIDAY, what the hell did Parker do to this thing?”

“ _I’ll review the footage and run a simulation._ ”

“Thanks, FRI.”

No, he hadn’t exactly planned on opening his heart to a _teenager_ of all people, not when he historically didn’t get along with children. (It wasn’t that they didn’t like him, he just had zero patience for most kids. Not exactly their fault, really, but what can you do?) And letting himself get attached was just another way to let himself get hurt, wasn’t it? Tony had Rhodey, and he had Happy, and he sort of had Pepper back. But he had probably lost Clint as a friend, at least to some degree, and whatever tentative friendship he had been attempting to forge with Sam Wilson was nothing but dust now. The same could be said for Wanda too, he supposed. Natasha was on rocky terrain at this point, but he had a feeling their bond would heal with time...if she ever resurfaced. She had flipped sides in Germany, and Tony himself had reported her to Ross for it...but he had also warned her of that fact. She knew what game he was playing, and he knew she hadn’t turned on him to spite him. She simply saw the big picture before he had caught on. It was all so complicated, everything was. And on top of that list of people, Bruce was still missing, and after Siberia–

Tony let out a slow breath, propping his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

–he had lost Steve. As angry as he was, as unwilling as he was to forgive Rogers for what he had done, there was still that part of him that agonized over the fact that he had lost the friendship and the trust that had once existed between himself and Cap. That loss was the most painful out of everyone. The others would either mend with time (if Tony would ever be willing to even open himself up to that again) or hadn’t ever been as significant in the first place.

So really, after everything that had happened, after all the pain that the Accords had caused him, why was he finding it so difficult to keep the Spider-Kid at arm’s length?

“ _I’ve finished running the numbers, Boss._ ”

Tony dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath, dragging himself back into some semblance of focus.

“What’ve you got for me?” he asked flatly, reaching for his now-cold coffee and taking a sip.

“ _It appears that Mr. Parker managed to decrease response time by 67%._ ”

Tony almost choked on his drink, spitting some of the coffee back into his mug with a cough. He cleared his throat, shoved the mug aside (with the express decision _not_ to drink more; he’d just as soon make a fresh cup), and immediately began scanning the data FRIDAY had pulled up on his screen.

“Pull up the updated schematics at station four,” he muttered, spinning his chair around and rolling to the holo-desk situated directly behind him. A three-dimensional blueprint sprang to life immediately, and Tony brought both hands together at his fingertips , expanding them outward in a sort of exploding hand motion that enlarged the entire display. He narrowed in on the wiring and circuitry around the knee joint, the area he remembered Peter fiddling with, and…he stared.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured, a quiet, impressed air lifting his words. He laughed softly, shaking his head in wonder, and leaned back in his chair with a hand over his smiling mouth. The kid actually did it. For all the scolding he had done when Peter had almost electrocuted himself, Peter had done exactly what Tony had been attempting to do for hours.

“I know you meant me,” Tony murmured quietly to FRIDAY, “but you were right. A fresh set of eyes was all I needed.”

Tony knew he would have figured it out himself much earlier if he wasn’t running on coffee fumes and very little sleep, but Peter’s work was impressive nonetheless...and despite his sentiments from only moments before, some of Tony’s reservations began to trickle away bit by bit through the small window Peter Parker had managed to open in Tony’s iron-clad heart.

* * *

Swinging through the city was just as amazing as it had been before he had gone to Germany, but there was something to be said for how much _cooler_ it was to be able to do it in a proper supersuit. The self-adjusting lenses were a godsend, and even though his costume was different, a few people still recognized Spider-Man as he swung his way into Queens from Manhattan.

(Granted, swinging from webs with a spider emblem on his chest wasn’t exactly something anyone else was prone to doing.)

It had been a pretty chill patrol too, the perfect way to get back into the swing of things after the crazy week he’d had. He had saved three cats (like Mr. Stark had suggested), stopped a few car thieves, caught a baby stroller that had rolled into traffic, and carried a nice old lady’s groceries up to her apartment. (He had even gotten a ziplock of oatmeal cookies from her as a thank you, and the man whose infant he had saved had given him a Subway gift card from his wallet.) By the time Peter was landing in the alley behind his apartment building and changing into real clothes, the headache he’d been sporting since school was completely gone and his nerves from being at the tower had vanished.

Quiet, murmuring questions about his mom still lingered in the background of his thoughts, but he could ask about that another day.

“Hey May!” Peter called as he shouldered his way into the apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him, trying not to crush the bags of chips and snacks he had grabbed on his way home.

“Peter!” May popped her head around the corner of the kitchen with a grin, glancing down at Peter’s hands. “I hope there’s something for me in there.”

“There’s a box of Swedish Fish with your name on it,” Peter grinned. “Ready for movie night?”

“Yes, you can invite Ned over.”

“I - what?” Peter blinked, his footsteps stuttering to a stop.

“I know you, Peter,” May ducked back into the kitchen, speaking up from where she was apparently attempting to make dinner. “If you come in with bags of snacks and you’re bribing me with Swedish Fish, you’re trying to make plans with Ned. So what is it this time? Star Wars again? Galaxy Quest? Scott Pilgrim?”

“Harry Potter marathon,” Peter confessed, dumping his shopping bags on a chair in the sitting room. “We’re gonna be here the whole day tomorrow trying to watch them all, if that’s okay?”

Peter started down the hall with his backpack, stopping in the side doorway to the kitchen on the way to his room. He glanced toward the stove, where a questionable-looking soup was cooking in a large pot. Oh, this wasn’t going to turn out well…

May looked up from her food experiment to shoot Peter an incredulous look.

“Of course,” she informed him. “You know the rules. As long as you get your homework done tonight, you can do whatever you want on the weekends. I’ve got a late shift tomorrow so you’ll be on your own for dinner, but I’ll leave you two some cash to order pizza.”

Peter beamed, ducking through the doorway to kiss his aunt on the cheek before rushing back toward his room.

“Thanks May! You’re the best!”

“Of course I am! Oh - wait, wait!” May shouted after him. “Come back here, you have to tell me about your internship!”

“Uh–” Peter cast a glance over his shoulder to his backpack, where the Spider-Man suit was still hiding. “...let me drop off my backpack first, okay? Then I can tell you everything.”

Once he was safe in his room, he let out a breath and dumped his backpack on his bed. He dropped to sit beside it, flopping backwards across his mattress and staring at the ceiling. His life, he decided, was absolutely _insane_.

When Peter had first arrived back home after Germany, May had greeted him warmly, ready to hug him and press him for details about his trip...until she had spotted his black eye. She, of course, had worried over him for a moment, berating him for getting into a fight...but she wasn’t really that angry. Ben would have been the one to really give him a talking-to, but May tended to be more worried about the fact that Peter got hurt than the fact that he had fought somebody. So she’d sent him off to his room to lie down and unpack while she went to fetch him an ice pack. (He was only grateful she didn’t know about the bruises on his back.)

“So, who was it?” she had asked, while Peter pulled up his shirt and fussed with some of the wrappings Mr. Stark had done for him. “Who hit you?”

“Some guy,” Peter had called back, too invested in his bandages to give a very detailed answer. What was he supposed to say anyway? ‘ _Hey May, I’m fine, I just happened to go up against half of the Avengers while I was in Germany. Because, ya know, I’m a totally super strong mutant-kid now, so there’s no reason for you to worry!’_ Yeah, that would go over well.

Peter winced as he tugged at the bandage around his ribs, reaching around his back to try and fuss with a spot that was bugging him.

“So itchy, man,” he mumbled. “God…” He supposed that meant it was healing, right?

“What's "some guy's" name?” May questioned again.

_Shit_.

“Uh…” Peter blanked, freezing, trying to come up with something. Anything. “Steve…?” ...nice one, Peter.

“Steve? From 12-C? With the overbite?”

“No, no, no,” Peter babbled, finally tugging the bandages into a better position. _Say something._ “You don't know him, he's...from Brooklyn.”

It was then that he heard May coming down the hall, so yanked his shirt down to cover the mummy-esque wrappings he was sporting. He didn’t need more questions than he was already getting.

“Well…” May smiled softly, appearing in the doorway. “I hope you got a few good licks in.”

“Yeah, I got quite a few in, actually…” His thoughts drifted back to the airport, to the fact that he had stolen Captain America’s shield...that he had actually held his own for a while too. It was true. He _had_ gotten a few good licks in. And he had taken down the Falcon and that guy with the metal arm...and then that move with the giant guy had been _perfect_.

“His friend was huge,” he had found himself saying. “Like, _huge_.”

And after May had given him the towel-wrapped ice pack, despite the fact that he knew the bruising around his eye would be healed soon anyway, she had let the subject go.

But that still left him a little unsure about what he could tell her about his internship. Or…’ _internship_ ’. It wasn’t exactly real. Or...real _yet_? Could he say ‘yet’? Did he dare get his hopes up? Mr. Stark had said yes to him coming to the lab more than once a week, so that was a good sign, but back in the hotel in Berlin, he had also said Peter would need to _earn_ his internship. His internship that wasn’t real.

_Yet_.

Peter was smiling to himself by the time he was dragged back out to the kitchen by May, and while he watched the inevitable disaster that became of her soup and while he helped her order some take-out, he let himself get carried away chattering about Stark Tower.

“...and the food court was _huge_! I mean, like, super high ceilings, nice tables, and there were trees and stuff–”

“Trees?”

“Like, small trees, in garden planter island things. And fountains - and, oh my god, Mr. Stark said that, like, _half_ the restaurants there were ones he kind of found all over the country, and he paid them to come to New York just to work at his tower. How _insane_ is that?”

“Absolutely insane,” May rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “As long as he doesn’t try to steal our thai place, I don’t care _what_ food he puts in his building. But, c’mon, _Peter_ ,” she put emphasis on his name, smiling and bumping shoulders with him where they were now sitting in the living room. “What about science stuff? You said you saw the labs, right? You didn’t just get the internship to enjoy the tower’s food court, did you?”

“O-Oh, no, I...heh…” Peter ducked his head, smiling up at May with a half-embarrassed look. “Yeah, we spent most of the time up in the lab. It’s - just - it’s _insanely_ futuristic. Like, we’ve got nice computers at Midtown, but - _man_ \- Mr. Stark has all the holo-desks that can bring up three-dimensional holographic schematics for projects, and it’s all _super_ intuitive. Like, he pulled up some images last time I was there, and I could grab one of the photos out of mid air like it was made of paper. It’s _nuts_.

“I-I don’t know if I can really say much about the actual _projects_ in there,” he stammered out, shrugging. “I think some of it is super secret. But I met this biotech scientist down in the food court who said they were working on new robotic hand prosthetics, and it’s just - May, it’s _amazing_.”

When he looked up, May was watching him with a soft look on her face, a gentle smile coloring her features. She hummed softly.

“You know, if you tried to explain half of the science stuff you know to me, I wouldn’t understand a word of it,” she admitted, pulling a stifled laugh from Peter. “But you absolutely light up when you talk about it, and that’s enough for me.”

She bumped shoulders with Peter again, and this time and put an arm around him and drew him to her side in a sort of half-hug, just long enough for her to press a kiss to the top of his head. Then she stood from the couch and headed for the kitchen to clean up the mess she had made earlier.

Peter watched her go, grinning to himself. May might not be his mom, and maybe she and Ben hadn’t exactly planned on taking him in...but she was an amazing aunt, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything in the world.

“So you have to go through security every day?” May called from the other room, and Peter turned around on the couch to face the kitchen.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Did they give you some kind of key card or badge or something? If they did, you’d better keep an eye on it. I don’t need you losing an ID or something as much as you seem to be losing backpacks this year.”

Oh, no...the badge. Peter’s eyes widened and he blanched, his grip tensing on the back of the couch. Happy had told him to ask Mr. Stark for his badge, but then things had gotten busy, and then they were getting food, and then he saw the suit, and then Mr. Stark had said he could go on patrol–

“...I...I think I’m supposed to get that next week?” he lied, ignoring the nervous lilt that accented the end of his sentence.

Happy was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a fun little cameo, huh? ;)
> 
> I have to admit, it wasn't exactly part of my plan to have Olivia Octavius be in this story, but when I was scrounging for names for a scientist for that scene, it just popped into my head...and it fits so well! I also had a bit of trouble writing Peter in this one during the lab sections for some reason, so I hope he still seems in character. ^^
> 
> As always, comments and questions are welcome and encouraged! Thanks for reading!


	4. Package From a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony visits Rhodey at the compound, and Tony end up having to defend himself against two nosey friends where the kid is concerned.  
> Meanwhile, Peter momentarily deals with the annoyance that is Flash Thompson...and, apparently, the fanboy that is Flash Thompson.

Tony backspaced his entire text for the third time that morning. He made a face, his nose wrinkling in irritation, and he had half a mind to chuck his phone across the penthouse and let FRIDAY send a default message. He had already promised the kid they could schedule a second lab day this week. Why was that such a hard thing to follow through with?

The ding of an elevator and the click of heels drew his attention and he raised his head to see Pepper walking across the room. Her arms were loaded with papers and a StarkPad tablet was balanced atop the stack.

“Did Ross call you or something?” Pepper asked, her brow furrowing.

“No…?” Tony stood from the couch he had been sitting on and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Why, was he supposed to?”

“No, you just look like you’re about to murder your phone, and the facial expression you’re sporting is usually synonymous with calls from Thaddeus Ross.”

Tony rolled his eyes, pocketing his hands. He watched Pepper cross to the kitchen counter with a sour look on his face.

“If I never have to speak to that man again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Usually I’d say you’re being overdramatic, but in this case, I think I agree with you.”

Tony snorted. He started towards her.

“Well, to be fair, I have a theory that he has made it his life goal to agitate as many people as humanly possible.”

“If that’s the case, he’s doing a hell of a job,” Pepper muttered, depositing her armload on the counter, and when Tony stepped up beside her she cast him a sideways glance. “So if not Ross, then what exactly had you looking like somebody swapped your coffee out for decaf?”

“What, can’t I just be mad at the world sometimes–?”

“ _Boss has been attempting to send a message to Mr. Parker for over half an hour._ ”

“ _Thank you_ , FRIDAY,” Tony glared at his ceiling, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “ _Really_ appreciated that.”

“Parker…?”

“The kid,” Tony sighed, caving beneath Pepper’s questioning gaze. “The Spiderling.”

“Oh.” Pepper watched him for a moment longer, then turned back to the stack of papers and folders she had brought with her. She set the StarkPad aside and pulled the first manila folder off the stack. “I’m guessing the NDA in this packet is for him?”

“Unless there’s another teenage vigilante hiding away in my penthouse that needs to keep his mouth shut, then yes.” Tony waited for Pepper to set the folder on the counter in front of him before opening it up. He flicked through the pages inside. Most of it was mock-ups of their usual intern paperwork, with a few alterations. He’d also had Pepper pull up submission forms and documentation he could send with Peter to school to make his “internship” official and on record, in case Tony ever needed to pull him out early for...something. Which, looking back, now seemed like overkill...but he had emailed Pepper almost immediately after Parker had left on Friday, and at the time it had seemed like a _fantastic_ idea.

“Tony, who is this kid?” Pepper asked, turning to face him as he perused the documents she had provided for him. “You wouldn’t tell me over the phone, but I feel like I need to know if he’s going to be here on a regular basis.”

Tony sighed, flipping the folder shut and dragging a hand over his face. Right. Pepper ought to know. He had already told Peter that she would be in the loop, so it wasn’t as if he needed the kid’s permission to share his identity.

“FRIDAY? Pull up footage of Spider-Man from the Spider-Child folder.”

“ _Would you like me to include Germany too?_ ”

“Ah, hell, why not?”

Tony strolled back toward the couch, nodding for Pepper to follow when the tv screen built into the wall lit up with the by-now-familiar videos of Peter on his early patrols. The videos from before Germany were up first, including the ones he had shown Peter in the kid’s apartment. Peter, swinging through the streets of Queens. Peter, catching a car at forty miles per hour. Peter, flipping through the air like an expert gymnast and clinging to the side of a building, climbing its surface, without any issue at all. Tony had been collecting footage of Spider-Man since before he had managed to track the guy down. Spidey had been on Tony’s radar for months, but it wasn’t until Germany that he had actually felt desperate enough to bring him into the fold.

And, as soon as he thought about it, footage from the fight in Germany sprang to life on the screen, most of it captured inside the airport terminal via security cameras. The brief fight between Peter and Sam and the Winter Soldier played out before his eyes. Tony had erased all footage from the airport afterwards, while they were clearing the scene, but he had kept a copy for his own private servers. Nobody needed that footage. None of it needed to be plastered across news outlets and YouTube. Besides, it kept anyone outside of their group from knowing that Spider-Man had even been involved...and somehow it eased Tony’s mind to know that was the case.

“How…?” Pepper was watching with slightly widened eyes, taking in the rather impressive acrobatic feats Peter was performing. “...I’d heard rumors about Spider-Man, but this–”

“It’s impressive,” Tony agreed. He scratched the back of his head, looking away from the screen. “I didn’t know how young he was until about a week before the bombing in Vienna. And when I brought him in, I didn’t think things would escalate the way they did in Germany. That was...I’m not gonna lie, it was an absolute fucking disaster. If I’d known, I would have left the kid in Queens.”

Tony wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain, to justify his actions. The slightest traces of guilt had been lingering with him ever since he had seen Peter’s bruises down in the Avengers lab, and it hadn’t gone away. Perhaps he just needed Pepper to understand that he hadn’t wanted the kid to get hurt, that he hadn’t known how far everything would fall...

Pepper dragged her eyes away from the screen at his words and pinned him with a questioning look.

“How young _is_ he?” she asked, and Tony could hear a mix of hesitance and sharpness in her words. Like she didn’t want to know, had a sneaking suspicion she already knew, and was already scolding Tony for his decisions.

“FRIDAY,” he muttered. “Pull up the biometric data for Peter Parker.”

“ _Just the relevant information?_ ”

“Yup. Hit me with the basics.”

Alongside his name, age, place of residence, and school, a photograph of Peter came up on the screen in all its puppy-dog-eyed baby-faced glory. Tony didn’t have to look to know Pepper was staring between himself and the display.

“Meet Peter Parker,” he said brightly, gesturing to the display with one hand. “Fourteen years old, fifteen in August. He’s got a scholarship to Midtown School of Science and Technology, and the _only_ reason he doesn’t have a 4.0 is because of late assignments and imperfect attendance. Got bitten by a radioactive spider on a field trip to Oscorp almost seven months ago, and instead of using his newfound powers as a party trick...Peter decided he wanted to help people.”

“ _Fourteen?_ Tony…!”

“I designed him a suit back before I knew Spider-Man was a _kid_ ,” Tony went on, shaking his head. “And now I’m glad I did, because instead of running around Queens in a set of glorified pyjamas, he’s got a suit that can help protect him. And if he gets hurt out there, now he has someone - some _where_ \- to come to for help.”

“Tony, he’s a _child_ ,” Pepper breathed, stepping in front of Tony to catch his eye. Her face was pale, her eyes floating somewhere between concern, panic, and a soft sort of anger. “You can’t encourage a fourteen-year-old boy to keep...keep…fighting crime in the streets of New York!”

“As if I could stop him,” Tony scoffed.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tense. That was something he had become aware of not too long after he met Peter, something he had realized somewhere between ‘ _What gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?_ ’ and ‘ _When you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen...they happen because of you._ ’

“Parker isn’t going to stop, no matter what I say. There’s... _something_ driving him that’ll keep him going no matter how many people try to tell him no. I don’t know what it is exactly, but nothing I say will change that.”

“Have you tried?” Pepper said pointedly. Tony chuckled, shaking his head.

“Meet him,” Tony told her, pointing at her, as he went to fetch the folder she had brought him. “You meet Peter Parker, talk to him for ten minutes, and then come back and ask me again why I haven’t tried to deter him from this.”

“So you haven’t tried.” It wasn’t a question. “Tony–”

“Pep, he’s got that same look in his eyes when he talks about helping people that _I_ get when I’ve got my eyes set on a goal and I’ve made up my mind. And you know how immovable I am when I get like that.” Tony turned away from the counter to meet her gaze, firm and unyielding. “Trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about here.”

Pepper propped a hand on her hip, the other flying to her forehead as she floundered for what to say.

“Fourteen... _god…_ ” She turned away, pacing slowly near the sofa, her eyes trailing back to the photo still lingering on the TV. “...what about his parents? Do they know he’s doing this?”

“No parents,” Tony said. “He was taken in by his aunt and uncle when he was six. It’s just him and his aunt left. She’s got _no_ clue that Peter even has super powers.”

“You took him out of the country without his aunt’s permission? Tony, you can’t _do_ that!”

“Hey, woah!” Tony threw up both hands in protest. “Hold on! I never said I didn’t ask permission.”

“No, you said she doesn’t _know_.” Pepper reminded him sharply. She let out a long breath and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, turning away from him. “What did you tell her you were doing with her nephew?”

“...okay, _technically_ she thinks Peter was on a trip for a Stark Industries Internship Workshop. But the kid made me promise not to tell her, literally webbed me to his damn door and told me point blank that ‘ _May can’t know’_.” Pepper shot him a look over her shoulder, and he held up a finger. “And before you ask, I’ve been pushing him to tell her the truth, and if he doesn’t tell her soon I’ll threaten to do it myself. I can’t be the only adult in his life he can turn to for help.”

_I can’t be the first person he turns to. I can’t get too close._

Pepper sighed heavily, her arms akimbo.

“...I still don’t like this. But at least you’re being somewhat responsible about this.”

“Excuse me?” Tony gawked at her. “I’m responsible! How many times have I saved the world?”

“You once gave our address away to a _known terrorist_ because you felt like he was challenging you.”

“Okay, to be fair,” Tony protested as she came over to grab her StarkPad, “I was in a very bad place, mentally, when all of that was going down. You know that. In fact, I _told_ you that myself.”

“Have you gone to therapy like I suggested?”

“Well–” Tony spread his arms out, then let them flop against his sides, the folder flapping against his leg. A dismissive look crossed his features. “I don’t need a shrink. I’m in a better place than I used to be. What is it they call that? Growth? Progress?”

Pepper locked him in place with a disbelieving look.

“Let’s just hope you do a better job helping Mr. Parker than you do helping yourself.”

Tony rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, not even watching as he heard Pepper’s heels click away towards the sofa. She perched herself on its edge, pulling up emails on her StarkPad.

Technically she was right, and he knew it. He had been a mess for _years_. While he certainly had a better handle on his anxiety than he’d had during everything that had been going on with Aldrich Killian, that didn’t mean he was without his issues. (And if he was being honest with himself, that was probably part of the reason he was hesitant to let the kid get too close.) That didn’t mean he was any more willing to see a quack about his problems.

“ _Boss, would you like me to compose a message to Mr. Parker for you? Your previous attempts were a bit–_ ”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll replace you with the AI I designed for the Spiderling.”

It was an empty threat, and he was sure FRIDAY knew it.

“What exactly are you trying to send to him?” Pepper asked, raising her eyes from her tablet to give him a quizzical look. Tony sighed. He gave in, tossing the folder onto the coffee table and dropping onto the couch a seat or two over from Pepper, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

“Parker asked me if he could come by the lab more than once a week,” he said flatly. “Kid’s a total science nut, so I’m not really surprised, but I wasn’t exactly planning on turning the penthouse into a babysitting service.”

“But you said yes, didn’t you?”

Tony leaned his head to the side to give her a flat look.

“What do you think? I have never seen a teenager who has mastered that bambi-eyed puppy-dog-look quite as well as Peter Parker. _Nobody_ could say no to him. It’s scientifically impossible.”

Pepper smiled and shook her head, returning her focus to her StarkPad.

“So are you trying to message him to say you changed your mind?”

“ _No_! I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.” Tony sank deeper in the couch. “I need to schedule a second lab day this week. I _could_ wait until Friday and ask him when he gets here, but–”

“But you don’t want to make him wait that long, because you’re ‘not that much of an asshole’.”

“Right.”

“Tony, just ask. It’s not that hard to talk to people.”

“Parker is _not_ ‘people’. He’s a teenager. They’re tiny rebellion-filled monsters.”

“Not every teenager was like you, Tony.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, a mock-offended look crossing his face, and he clutched a hand to his chest.

“Miss Potts!” he scolded, catching the flicker of a smile at the corner of her lips. “I’m hurt.”

“Wounded, even?”

“Utterly destroyed. I may never recover. Call it. I’m done. I’m gone. I can see the headline: _Iron Man Survives Nuke, Killed By Trusted Friend_.”

“You know Rhodey would probably agree that Teenage-College-Student Tony Stark was an absolute _nightmare_ to handle.” Pepper grinned at Tony’s spluttering, then got to her feet as realization lit up her eyes. “Oh! That reminds me…I haaave...” She walked swiftly to the counter where her papers were still piled. “...the updated draft for the amendments to the Sokovia Accords ready for you. I wanted to get them to you before you went to visit Rhodey at the compound this afternoon; he might want a look too, since you’re planning on bringing him on board with this.”

“Oh, excellent.” Tony was off the couch in an instant, meeting Pepper at the kitchen counter. “You printed out paper copies? Pep, look who you’re talking to. Digital is always better.”

“This copy isn’t for you, it’s for Rhodey,” Pepper shot him a long-suffering look, smiling faintly along with her words. “I know you probably have the means to get him a digital copy too, but seeing as we want this off the radar, I figured it would be safe to print him one instead of emailing it ahead. Just in case.”

Tony met her eyes, grateful adoration pooling in his chest.

“One step ahead as always, Miss Potts,” he murmured with a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Pepper returned his smile.

God, he missed her.

Maybe when things settled back into some semblance of “normal” - or whatever _normal_ was for a genius billionaire superhero philanthropist - he could try and mend whatever had broken between them. Maybe he could begin to work towards what they’d had before. Maybe.

“I’ll leave you to your texting,” Pepper told him, stepping back with her StarkPad in hand. “I’ll be here for the rest of the day if you need me. And let me know how Rhodey is doing, alright?”

“As if I’d leave you in the dark,” Tony quipped, watching the elevator door close behind her, slowly hiding her from view. He sniffed, glanced at the stapled amendments packet on the counter, and grabbed both it and the folder on the coffee table on his way down to the lab. He had to pack up the new prototype for Rhodey’s braces for travel before he headed out, but after that he would be on his way upstate.

And after he texted Peter Parker. He couldn’t forget that.

“...FRIDAY? Just send a text to Peter for me. Ask him if he’s available after school.”

“ _I already did, Boss, almost four minutes ago._ ”

Tony paused before he reached the elevator and stared at the ceiling, an amused and incredulous look on his face. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You cheeky minx.”

* * *

Peter didn’t notice Mrs. Roland’s eyes on him until his spidey-sense was buzzing quietly at the back of his neck and Ned was kicking him beneath their shared desk. As it was, he wasn’t quite quick enough to stow his phone away before his precalc teacher was glaring sharply at him from beside his table.

“Mr. Parker, I don’t think I have to remind you that I don’t allow cell phones in my classroom during lectures.”

Peter’s head snapped up and he winced, not even bothering to stop her when she plucked his phone from his hand, glancing down at the message he had been ogling only moments before.

Unknown Number   
  
**Today** 10:47 AM   
**Unknown:** Mr. Parker, Boss would like to know if you’re available to come to the lab tomorrow after school? You can discuss a more permanent schedule then.   
  
  


Mrs. Roland raised an eyebrow at Peter, who smiled sheepishly. She locked his phone and tapped it against her opposite palm.

“You can get it after class. We’ve only got half an hour left. I’m sure you can wait that long?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Peter muttered, shrinking in his seat beneath her sharp gaze.

Once Mrs. Roland was heading back to the front of the classroom, Peter let his head fall onto his closed laptop with a dull _thunk_. It really was a Monday, wasn’t it? He felt Ned nudge his foot under the table again. The crinkle of paper met Peter’s ears and he lifted his head far enough to see the note Ned had slid his way.

N - _I tried to warn you_

Peter swallowed a smile and picked up his pencil.

P - _warn me faster_

N - _your the one who was texting in class_

P - _*you’re, and I wasn’t, i didn’t type anything_

N - _scamantics_ _who was it_

P - * _semantics_ _mr. stark_

Ignoring the excited gasp and grin from Ned, Peter shook his head at his best friend and whispered,

“Later. I don’t need detention.”

“Right, yeah, okay, cool. Coolcoolcool.”

Peter opened his mouth again, thought better of it, then tugged the scrap paper towards himself one last time to add:

P - _you need to stop rewatching Community_

With that final, definitive closing statement, Peter shoved the paper back towards his friend and tried as best he could to actually pay attention to Mrs. Roland’s lesson. The hard part was, it was just...boring. It wasn’t exactly difficult stuff. Peter had gotten bored earlier in the semester and gone through the entire remainder of his precalculus textbook on a whim, doodling equations in the corner of his Spider-Man suit sketches for entertainment. So, technically, he already knew this...but he’d rather get his phone back when Mrs. Roland had said he would instead of at the end of the day.

Mr. Stark was waiting for a response, after all.

After about ten (boring, repetitive, pointless) minutes of teaching, the students were set free to work on the homework they had been assigned, and by the time the bell rang Peter was almost done with every problem listed in blue marker on the whiteboard. Almost. A few stubborn calculations remained, but he was sure he would get them done either today or tomorrow before their next precalc class on Wednesday. Easy.

Once most of the class had filtered out of the room, Peter approached Mrs. Roland’s desk with Ned trailing behind him.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to - like - disturb the class or anything, it’s just–” he stammered immediately, slowly drawing his teacher’s eyes to him with each rapidfire word he spilled out. “–that - see, I just got this internship, and that was my boss, and we’re still working out my schedule a-and–”

“I don’t need an apology, Peter,” Mrs. Roland cut him off, picking up his phone from the corner of her desk and holding it out to him. “Next time, wait until you’ve started your work period after the lecture to check your messages. You know I don’t mind texting in my class as long as you pay attention when I’m teaching. After that, however much work you have left over for homework is entirely up to you.”

Peter snapped his jaw shut and nodded jerkily, his face flushed.

“Y-Yes ma’am.”

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter headed for the door with Ned hot on his heels.

“Oh, and Mr. Parker?”

“Yeah?” Peter turned around, his mind already racing, wondering if he’d done something else wrong–

“In case nobody has told you yet,” Mrs. Roland informed him with a smile, “if you have an internship, you might be able to get credit for it depending on where it is. You can ask your counselor or Principle Morita about it if you’re interested.”

Really? Peter brightened momentarily, before remembering that, technically, his internship wasn’t _real_. His trips to Stark Industries were real, and his presence in the labs was real, but he was by no means a real intern. He wasn’t there for Peter Parker, he was there for Spider-Man. All the same, he pulled on a grateful smile and nodded.

“Thanks, Mrs. Roland. I’ll look into it.”

Then he left as quickly as he could, completely missing the inquisitive stare Flash Thompson was sending his way from across the hall as he passed.

Ned fell into step beside him, bumping shoulders with him.

“What did Mr. Stark say?” he asked quietly, eagerly, grinning over at Peter and barely dodging a girl who was racing and weaving through the crowded halls at a much higher speed than was necessary. Peter grabbed Ned’s elbow and pulled them both aside and out of her way.

“His AI was asking me if I can come to the lab tomorrow.”

“You’re saying yes, right?” Ned shook Peter’s arm, his eyes sparkling at the mention of FRIDAY. (Peter had already told him about the AI during their Harry Potter marathon on Saturday, an event that ended up lasting far longer than it was originally going to be - _and twenty hours of watch time was already insanely long to begin with_ \- because of how many questions Ned had about Peter’s first official day at the tower.)

“What? Yeah, of _course_ I’m saying yes,” Peter grinned and rolled his eyes. “Man, I _wish_ you could see the labs they have there.”

“I knoooow, I do too!” Ned lamented, his head falling back as he sighed dramatically at the ceiling. “What I wouldn’t give to just _touch_ one of the computers they’ve got. I can’t imagine the processing power it takes to run all those holograms on top of an artificial intelligence.”

“Plus all the other server-run lab equipment,” Peter pointed out. “There are like ninety floors in the tower, and I bet there are at least a few dozen dedicated to labs alone.”

“Ooooh, yeah, you’re right. That’s so crazy.”

They had reached the cafeteria at this point, and Ned and Peter both headed for their usual lunch table by default. Peter saw Michelle from the decathlon team sitting at the next table over, something which she had been doing on and off since Peter and Ned had joined AcaDec as alternates at the start of the year. They didn’t exactly talk often, but she seemed...interesting. Or something. Weird maybe? She was a bit of a social justice activist as far as Peter could remember, and a very opinionated one at that, but in class she didn’t exactly make it a point to talk to other people. He often got the impression that she preferred her books to her classmates...and as someone who was often viewed as a bit of a social outcast himself, Peter felt he could relate to that a little bit. Except with computers and tech. Less books, more science.

Regardless, having her seated nearby wasn’t an unwelcome turn of events, so Peter sent a little wave in her direction before dumping his backpack and heading off to get some food. (Granted, the budget he had in his student meal account didn’t allow for the kind of appetite he had now-a-days, but that’s why he always brought protein bars and snacks with him in his backpack to top him off before the end of the school day. It wouldn’t do to go on patrol with an empty stomach.)

“Hey, d’you think I could get an internship there too?” Ned asked, his eyes brightening at the idea. “I could work in their coding department, or something. If they have a department for that. Do they?”

“I...uh, I don’t know,” Peter said honestly. Did they? He still didn’t actually know that much about the regular inner workings of Stark Industries, outside of the fact that there was apparently a biotech department working on prosthetic hands, and sometimes Mr. Stark would do final testing on projects the lower labs were working on. And that his mom used to work there. Which was still absolutely mind boggling. “I honestly don’t even know how I got lucky enough to get picked for an internship myself.”

“And here _I_ thought you had to be sixteen to even get hired anywhere.” A snide voice interrupted their conversation, and Peter’s spidey-sense tingled a fraction of a second before Flash threw an arm around his shoulder, jostling the tray of chicken strips Peter was carrying. He winced. “So what’s this I hear about an _internship_? What company was desperate enough to hire Puny Parker?”

“Oh, Peter got this super awesome internship at S–”

Peter stomped on Ned’s foot and shot him a look, effectively shutting him up before he said:

“At some tech company. It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Flash snorted. “Like anyone would be interested in giving _you_ an internship. What are they trying to do, fill their public image quota? Give a poor orphan a chance to feel special? _Please_.”

Peter’s jaw clenched, and it took everything in him not to shrug Flash’s arm off of his shoulders.

“I totally encourage you to try and apply for internship credits,” Flash went on, patting Peter twice on the back and stepping away, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m looking forward to seeing how much trouble you get into for lying to the faculty.”

“Wouldn’t want to deprive you of entertainment,” Peter returned, pulling on a thin-lipped smile as he watched the other teen saunter away.

“...why don’t you just tell him the truth?” Ned asked once Flash was far enough away, leaning in close and keeping his voice low. “You could totally show him up, no problem.”

_Because he’s technically right,_ Peter wanted to say. _Because I don’t actually have an internship, and for all intents and purposes, I WOULD be lying to the school if I tried to say I did._

“Do you honestly think he’d believe me?” he said instead, adding a fruit cup to his tray and shooting Ned an incredulous look. “He’d probably think I was making it up for attention or something.”

“That sounds like something _he’d_ do, maybe,” Ned joked, and Peter couldn’t really help the small laugh that escaped him as they both reached the register.

“D’you think he’s actually lied about himself before?” he found himself asking. He swiped his student pay card, smiling briefly at the bored-looking woman manning the register. She glanced at his tray, tapped a few buttons, and waved him off when the machine beeped.

“Ohhh, what if he has?” Ned went wide-eyed, going through the motions of ringing up his meal by memory alone. They both headed for their table again. “I mean we all know his family is rich, so that’s true, but he keeps saying he’s met all these famous people and gone to all these awesome concerts and VIP parties–”

“I don’t actually believe he’s met Alison Blaire,” Peter pointed out. “She’s got some awesome music and her live show special effects are off the charts, but she’s way too private. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her doing meet-and-greets.”

“Right?” Ned nodded, agreeing emphatically. He dropped into his seat at their table and scrunched up his face in thought. “He might’ve met Andrew Garfield though. I saw Flash showing off tickets to Jimmy Kimmel last year, when he did that interview about _Hacksaw Ridge_?”

Peter curled up his nose.

“How do you even remember that?” he asked, peeling open his carton of milk. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been interested in that movie.”

“It was the week you were out sick, dude,” Ned said. “After the Oscorp trip, when you were totally off the radar for like...four days or something. Flash was bragging all day Monday and Tuesday about how his dad brought him to a Jimmy Kimmel show over the weekend and he got a backstage pass or something.”

Oh. Right. The weekend after the bite. Peter winced.

“Oh, man! But _last_ week, Flash claimed he met Spider-Man too, and I don’t know if I believe that one–”

Peter did a spit-take, trying and failing to stop milk from spewing across his lunch tray with one now-milk-covered hand. Well, that went well.

“S-Spider-Man?” he spluttered, even as he hastily set aside his milk carton and took the napkins Ned was handing him with his free hand. Flash was bragging about meeting _him?_ “You’re _serious_?”

“Totally serious,” Ned grinned. He seemed to think Peter found the whole thing funny, because his words were dripping with humor. “He was saying how Spider-Man saved him during a bank heist last week, and how he thanked Flash personally for helping or something.”

“That’s totally fake,” Peter blurted out without really thinking. He hadn’t even had his _suit_ last week, let alone gone out on patrol. He tossed a few wet wadded-up napkins aside and started cleaning up the mess on his tray.

“Of course it’s fake.”

Both Peter and Ned turned to Michelle, who had raised her eyes from her book long enough to pitch into their conversation.

“That bank incident was last Wednesday or something - which Spider-Man wasn’t even a part of, by the way - and Flash was bragging during Monday’s AcaDec meeting that his family would be in California that day for some sort of fancy party. He wasn’t even in the state.”

“Really?” Peter asked, his brow furrowed. Why couldn’t he remember that?

“Yup.” Michelle returned to her book. “You were too busy nursing your back injury to pay much attention, Parker.”

_Back injury?_ Peter blanched, his eyes wide. His bruises hadn’t even been hurting all that much by Monday, Peter remembered, but he’d still been wearing the bandages all day during school. They got itchy after twenty-four hours.

“You hurt your back?” Ned hissed. “When? _How?_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was nothing,” Peter mumbled. “I just got into a fight during that internship workshop last weekend. It was no big deal.”

“You got in a fight? _Dude–_!”

“Stop freaking out, I’m fine!” Peter cut him off. He finished cleaning up his tray and added the last wet napkin to the pile, rolling his eyes at his best friend. “I just got a black eye and a few bruises. The guy was just being a jerk and wouldn’t listen to the people in charge.”

_Which was surprisingly accurate for it being a lie._

“Next time you get hurt, _tell_ me, okay?” Ned insisted. “Please? You’re my best friend, man. We look out for each other. Right?”

Peter dragged his eyes up from his damp chicken strips to see the sincerity in Ned’s expression, the unwavering loyalty that had always been there coming to the surface in the form of furrowed eyebrows and a worried smile. Ned didn’t need to worry. Peter didn’t _want_ him to worry. He was Spider-Man, he could handle himself.

But all the same...knowing that his best friend would have his back, at least in the ways that counted, brought a warm smile to his face. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to drag Ned into the semi-dangerous mess that was superhero-ing, but here, in the ‘normal’ world, Peter could depend on him for everything else.

“Right,” he agreed, holding out a hand for a fist-bump, which Ned eagerly returned. They shared a grin. “If anything else happens, you’ll know. Promise.”

Peter only hoped he wouldn’t have to break that promise too many times.

* * *

A package. Rogers had sent him a damn package. He hadn’t known who it was from at first - no name or return address given - and once he had opened it Tony almost didn’t read the letter hidden inside, staring at the by-now familiar handwriting with a nauseous feeling swirling in his stomach. He forced himself to breath, the slowly-rising panic that often accompanied memories of Siberia lingering, restless, just below the surface.

If Steve Rogers was getting in touch with him after everything that had happened, it had to be for a reason. Right? Tony pursed his lips, glaring at the unread letter as though it had wronged him. (At least it had been sent to the compound and not his home address; he didn’t need the people in the Stark Industries mailroom asking after an unmarked box.)

He _almost_ didn’t read it.

But Tony Stark was, if nothing else, curious and impatient, and his curiosity got the better of him before his anxiety could force him to tear the paper to shreds.

(A few minutes later, and a few short paragraphs of somewhat disjointed thoughts on Steve’s part, Tony wasn’t sure if he was relieved that he had read it or if he regretted not burning it to ash.)

Now, sitting in his office chair with a pen clicking between his fingers, one hand dragging over his mouth and his eyes lingering on the letter on his desk, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel. For one thing, the implication that Rogers was keeping an eye on things, an eye on _him_ \- ‘ _...I’m glad you’re back at the compound…_ ’ - was both unsurprising and disconcerting in equal measure. Technically, Tony was still living at the tower, but apparently his visits to the compound - to _Rhodey_ \- had been frequent enough to garner Rogers’ attention. It wasn’t beyond Tony’s expectations that the good captain was keeping himself up-to-date with the current goings on in regards to the Avengers (and probably the Accords as well). But all the same, the thought of Rogers _watching_ him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, drawing from the same well of anxiety that had been created by the memory of unforgiving vibranium crashing down repeatedly against his head, his neck, his chest, over and over and over and _over and over_ –

With a quiet, shuddering breath, Tony closed his eyes. There was more to the letter than that one sentence.

Rogers was also under the impression that Tony was more deserving of the Avengers “family”, as he had called them, then Steve himself. Tony wasn’t entirely sure if he agreed with that sentiment - perhaps neither of them deserved that family - but yeah, okay, sure. Perhaps. If only his teammates were of the same mind as Rogers in that regard. It wasn’t as if many were left standing by Tony’s side when all was said and done. He ignored the pang that cut through his chest at that observation, pushing past his thoughts on that part of the letter (as well as the next few sentences, which were still puzzling him). Instead he re-read, from where he sat, the last grouping of lines that Rogers had written.

_‘I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. That's all any of us should._

_‘So, no matter what. I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there.’_

Tony had scoffed when he first read it, and this time his reaction was much the same. If Ste– _Rogers_ , was attempting to apologize, it wasn’t half bad...but who the hell tried to make heartfelt apologies in the form of a letter? (Perhaps people from the 1940’s who had been frozen in ice for the better part of a century did...but surely even back in the days of baseball cards, Slinkies, and meatloaf, apologizing in person was considered more personal? _Surely?_ ) Even if Rogers _had_ made the effort to try and say sorry face-to-face, Tony wasn’t ready to accept it or forgive the man for what he had done. They had fought and made up in the past, but this particular blow was far too personal and far too painful to be healed by a bandaid apology.

_‘If you need me…’_

Yeah, right. Sure. Thanks but no thanks.

A low knocking made Tony’s head snap up, his eyes falling on the door as it opened. Rhodey was on the other side, wheeling himself into the room in the compact wheelchair Tony had gotten ahold of for him. It promised the highest level of ease and maneuverability, and Tony would be damned if he didn’t give his best friend as much independence and freedom as he could until Tony was able to perfect the braces he was working on.

“Hey honeybear,” Tony quipped, pulling on a halfhearted smirk. “Are you here to make a formal request for your upgrades? I was serious about that cupholder.”

He wasn’t. But he would be, if that’s what Rhodey wanted.

Rhodey wheeled himself up to the edge of Tony’s desk, glancing between Tony and the half-opened Fed-Ex package sitting near the abandoned letter on the desk’s surface.

“Nah, I trust you to make the right call,” Rhodey informed him with a smile, one that slowly faded into nothing. “But seeing as you said you’d ‘ _check your mail and be back in ten_ ’,” he quoted, “I figured I’d check in on you since it’s been closer to thirty.” He nodded toward the box from Rogers. “That’s not just some random package, is it?”

Tony’s smirk fell away and he pressed his lips together into a thin line. Rhodey could read him like a damn book and he knew it.

Rhodey had been the first to realize something was wrong back when Tony was hiding the palladium poisoning that had been slowly killing him. Despite all of Tony’s best attempts to hide his affliction from everyone, he hadn’t been able to hold up a convincing enough front when around his best friend. Rhodey had also been quicker than anyone else in understanding Tony’s toxically habitual pattern of drinking and drugs and sexual partners that had worsened after his parents’ deaths. He had recognized the pain and the heartache and the conflicting emotions, and had seen what the media hadn’t: that it wasn’t casual and uncaring indifference that Tony was flaunting, but rather an attention-drawing and unhealthy preoccupation meant to distract from the emotions that Tony couldn’t quite process, from the memories he didn’t want to recall. And, hell, even when they were back in college and had barely known each other a year, Rhodey had been able to see right through Tony’s young teen cockiness and arrogance and rude personality, had been able to discern the _mask_ Tony had been putting up to protect himself from further disappointment after how much of a trainwreck Howard had been in the fatherhood department.

Knowing just how well Rhodey was able to see through his lies, his false smiles, and pick apart the truth _every damned time_ , Tony didn’t bother trying to fib this time. He let out a huff and leaned forward, flicking the creased letter in the other man’s direction as an indication to take it and read it. Tony didn’t need to look at it again. He’d read it a few times by now in full, and he wasn’t exactly leaping at the chance to get the damned thing into his hands again. He knew what it said.

_Tony,_

_I'm glad you're back at the compound. I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself._ _We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine._ _I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn't._

_I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents–_

Rhodey let out a low whistle, and Tony watched the man’s eyebrows fly skyward.

“He really sent you this, huh?” Rhodey asked, incredulous. Tony snorted.

“Looks like.”

“That takes some balls.”

“Maybe. Or cowardice, if he’s trying to say sorry with a piece of paper.”

“I take it you’re not letting him off that easy?” Rhodey hazarded a guess, a faint knowing smirk dancing across his expression, and Tony shook his head. His lips pressed into a thin not-all-there smile.

“Not a chance,” he confirmed. “I might be willing to work with Captain Righteous again if the world needs us, but I’ll be damned if I let things go back to the way they were without him earning it.”

“Good. Don’t.” A pause. “...’I can’t let them down’...’locks can be replaced’...” Rhodey frowned at the letter he still held, then tossed it back onto Tony’s desk. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not just idle chit-chat?”

_Locks…_

Tony scratched at his jawline, squinting at a few words he could see from his seat.

_If you need us…if you need me..._

Need... _us_?

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, the realization dropping on him immediately. “Rogers is breaking them out of lockup.”

“Breaking–” Rhodey caught on in an instant, and the expression it brought to his face was so familiar to Tony that he recognized his best friend’s trademark _‘Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ ’ look before it had even fully formed. “He’s insane.”

Despite the conflicting emotions that erupted in Tony’s mind, torn between utter relief at his teammates - _friends?_ \- being free and sheer panic over them having to be on the run, Tony found himself chuckling behind his hand. It was the same kind of half-manic giggling that had been brought out of him when Ultron had first come to life at the Avengers Tower, a sort of defense mechanism perhaps. If everything was a joke, if everything was funny, then there was no room for fear to find its home in his thoughts.

But it _was_ funny, in a way, because perhaps Steve Rogers hadn’t been the only one whose mind the thought of a breakout had crossed. Tony himself had considered it, briefly, when he had seen them all locked away in the Raft during his visit. He hadn’t followed through with it at the time, what with Steve’s suicide mission having been a bigger priority, and by the time Siberia had happened - (and Peter, and Pepper, and the amendments, and Rhodey’s braces, and–) - he had realized that pitting himself against the UN would only harm any chances he had of turning the Accords in their favor, and that breaking out his sort-of teammates from holding wouldn’t give them real freedom.

It would have brought about the same problem they would be facing now that Ste– _Rogers_ , had done the jailbreaking in Tony’s stead. They wouldn’t be going back to their normal lives. They _couldn’t_. They would be fugitives on the run, glancing over their shoulder at every turn, never quite feeling _safe_ –

...but at the same time, the memories of Wanda - bound, restrained, trapped behind glass and unyielding prison bars - and of Cint, out of reach from his family...it left a bitter taste in his mouth. They, along with the rest of the Avengers (and friends) who had been imprisoned for reasons that weren’t entirely _right_ ; they didn’t deserve to be treated like criminals when they were only trying to help people.

So Tony chuckled, a slightly mad sparkle in his eye when he looked to Rhodey.

“Is he so insane?” he questioned. “Is he really?”

“Tones–”

“I mean, this is Steve Rogers we’re talking about.” Tony shot out of his chair, pacing beside his desk, needing to move, to fidget, to expel the pent-up energy buzzing through his system. “I hate the guy about as much as Howard right now, but I have enough faith in him to know he’s not going to get caught. He’s good at what he does. He and Natasha and their friend Wilson took down the entire foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra without much backup two years ago.”

“Look, I’m not doubting Cap’s skills,” Rhodey said. He watched Tony as he moved about the office. “But he’s taking a serious risk. Do you really want our friends to be on the run?”

“Better that than in a cage.” He paused and allowed himself a humorless chuckle. “Now I sound like Rogers. God…” Tension mounted behind his eyes and he brought both of his hands up to run through his hair.

“Tony, you mentioned a pardon earlier,” Rhodey shifted the subject slightly, spotting Tony’s not-so-subtle strain and discomfort with their current line of discussion. “If Cap does this, how in the hell are you going to convince the UN–”

“Ross. It’s all him.”

“–alright, _Ross_. How are you going to convince him that everyone deserves pardoning?”

“I can’t.” Tony shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and drawing back his shoulders. “That’s a fact. If I try to go in and push Ross and the council to forgive and forget the actions of five - no, _six_ \- people who are being viewed as terrorists? It’s not gonna happen.”

“You can’t go in all bull-in-a-china-shop,” Rhodey agreed.

“Right. But if I can start with a few, I can get my foot in the door.”

“A few?” At Tony’s raised eyebrow and half-nod, Rhodey adjusted himself in his wheelchair, lacing his fingers together and steepling the first two against his lips. “Who?”

“Clint, for one,” Tony tilted his head to the side, meandering toward the desk and leaning back against it, facing Rhodey. “As far as I can tell his involvement started and ended in Germany after he “rescued” Wanda from the compound, and even though he sided with Rogers, he was never directly involved with the Accords. He was basically retired. He _was_ retired. It shouldn’t be hard to at least get him some kind of house arrest deal, or better if we’re lucky.”

Rhodey looked thoughtful, intrigued. He nodded slowly.

“Alright. That’s actually a pretty damn good start.”

“What, you doubted me?” Tony scoffed, incredulity dusting his smile. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I trust you all the time.” Rhodey shot back his retort with a half-grin of his own. “Who else you got?”

“Uh - Scott Lang.” Before Rhodey could ask, Tony elaborated: “Ant-Man. The, uh...giant-tiny guy. Jumbo Shrimp.”

“Right, right.”

“Yeah. See, much like Clint, he had _nothing_ to do with this before Rogers dragged him in.” Tony reached across his desk with one hand to grab his phone, bringing it to life and finding the file he was looking for. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the infosheet on Lang lit up the air above his phone screen, and he set it at the desk’s edge so Rhodey could read it. “The guy used to be a thief, and a damn good one too. Got caught, went to prison, did his time...and he’s basically been clean since he got out. He was recruited last summer by one Hank Pym - a scientist, used to work with _dear old dad_ \- ” the words left a sour taste in his mouth, “to be the new Ant-Man. Which, before you ask...” Tony swiped his hand across the hologram and a second page popped up, this one detailing the original Ant-Man files he had found when he hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. on the helicarrier, “...was a super secret S.H.I.E.L.D. project from decades back that Pym was a part of. But that doesn’t really matter right now.”

“So why is it going to be easier to get a pardon for an ex-con than it will be for, say, Wanda or Sam?”

Even Rhodey knew that asking for a pardon for Rogers right off the bat would get them nowhere.

“Well, like I said, Lang has been keeping his nose clean, and for good reason,” Tony pointed out. He nodded toward the first infosheet. “He’s got a daughter, Cassie. Age eight. Almost nine. And from what I can tell he’d do just about anything to be able to keep in contact with her. After whatever the hell went down in San Francisco last year, he’s made a point to show that he’s going straight...so I don’t think he quite knew what he was getting himself into in Germany.”

“You don’t think he knew about the Accords?”

“Not a chance. And frankly, the UN and Ross still view Wanda as too much of a risk, and Wilson was working too closely with Rogers for us to be able to help him yet.”

Rhodey nodded slowly.

“So...Clint and Lang.” He eyed the infosheet for a beat or two, then raised both eyebrows at Tony. “You’ve been putting a lot of thought into this.”

“What the hell else do you think I’ve been doing for the past week?” Tony retrieved his phone and dismissed the holograms with a swift hand motion, circling back around his desk.

“Working on my new legs,” Rhodey smirked.

“...yeah, that too,” Tony conceded with a tired grin. “But you can ask Pepper - I’ve been spending hours pouring over the Accords and talking with SI legal, trying to get amendments drawn up and working out the best way to help the team. I’ve actually got a copy of those amendments for you to take a look at when you’ve got time. Pepper actually printed it out on _paper_. Can you believe that?” He shoved his phone in his pocket with a sniff and pointedly pushed the letter from Rogers to the side of his desk. “Oh, and send the kid a thank-you note while you’re at it. He’s half the reason those new prostheses were even ready for you to try out today.”

“Kid?” Rhodey repeated slowly. “What kid?”

“The, uh...Spider-Guy,” Tony said with an air of nonchalance. “Kid’s a tech genius, and I’ve sort of taken him under my wing, so to speak.”

“Mhm. Right. Okay.” Rhodey nodded once, twice, then– “When were you planning on telling me you dragged a _kid_ onto a battlefield?”

“Oh, please,” Tony waved him away. He’d already had this talk with Pepper that morning. He didn’t need a scolding from Rhodey too. “He’s not an actual _child_. Jesus, sourpatch, what do you take me for?”

“An idiot, sometimes.”

Tony levelled Rhodey with a flat, unimpressed stare.

“...wow. Ouch. Thanks for that.” He rolled his eyes at Rhodey’s barely restrained smirk. “Regardless of the fact that it seems to be Let’s-Pick-On-Tony Day–” Rhodey laughed from the other side of the desk, “–you’ll probably meet him soon. Peter’s coming by the tower twice a week now, so either you’ll see him there once you’re out of this joint, or he’ll come here. He needs proper training at some point, and god knows I’m the wrong person for that.”

“Peter, huh?”

Tony could recognize Rhodey’s falsely-innocent tone, the one he often used when he was trying to pry deeper into a subject, and Tony shot him a look.

“That’s all you’re getting today, platypus,” he said pointedly. “Until you meet him in person I’m not throwing the kid’s secret identity in your lap. I made him a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“Oh, c’mon, not even a last name?” Rhodey pressed. “I need to know who this guy is. If he’s a security threat–”

Tony laughed. He actually _laughed_. Peter Parker? A security threat? _Please_. The kid was more of a danger to himself than the Avengers. He’d do more damage by tripping on his shoelaces in the lab than whatever Rhodey was assuming might happen.

...or maybe he wouldn’t trip, either. He _did_ have enhanced reflexes after all.

“Rhodey, I promise, he’s not a danger to us,” Tony chuckled, dropping back into the chair behind his desk. “Trust me. Or trust Pepper, if you can’t take my word for it. Once you meet him, you’ll...”

...what?

Tony paused, the FedEx package from Rogers in one hand. He had picked it up with the intent to dump it in the trash, but he must have forgotten there was something else inside, because he was surprised to feel a weight shift when he lifted it from his desk. Brow furrowed, Tony exchanged a glance with Rhodey then tipped the contents onto the surface of his desk.

A cell phone.

No, not just a cell phone, a dumbphone.

As in, not a smartphone. As in, a flip phone. As in, _what in the hell did Steve Rogers just send him?_

“If you need me, I’ll be there,” Tony mumbled, almost to himself, and he eyed the phone thoughtfully with a tilted head and a half-smirk. Not bad, Rogers. Not bad. Clearly they couldn’t keep in touch the regular way, in case any calls to known numbers for the compound or Tony or Rhodey would be too easy to track. But this... _this_ line was clean.

Not that Tony had any plans to call the man any time soon, but even so…

“Damn. Cap’s smart, I’ll give him that,” Rhodey muttered. “For a man from the forties, he’s done a good job or catching up.”

“ _Priority call from Secretary Ross._ ” FRIDAY’s voice cut through the room, drawing two pairs of eyes to the phone on Tony’s desk. “ _There's been a breach at the Raft prison._ ”

“You don’t say?” Rhodey commented dryly. Tony cast one more narrow-eyed glance toward the cell phone. Them, after a moment’s thought, let out a breath and rolled his chair closer to the office phone on his desk.

“Yeah, put him through.” He reached out and tapped a button on the dial pad. Immediately, the pair were greeted by Ross’ no-nonsense tone.

“Tony, we have a problem–”

“Ah,” Tony interrupted, already reaching for another button. “Please hold.”

“No. Don't–”

And without bothering to wait for the man’s response, Tony put the call on hold, smirking at Rhodey’s bemused expression.

“He’s gonna hate you for that.”

“Oh, he doesn’t hate me already?” Tony asked. “Huh. And I was trying so hard to piss him off this week.”

Tony stood from his chair, scooping up the cell phone from Rogers as he went. For half a breath he contemplated putting it in his pocket...but he changed his mind and deposited it in his top desk drawer instead. If he needed it, he’d know where to find it.

“So,” Tony grinned, clapping his hands together. “Dinner?”

Once they had made their way down to the kitchen in the commons of the compound, Tony had pulled out the leftover pizzas from his visit two days before. He may not have been a competent chef in most areas, but he could heat up cold pizza in an oven without much issue. (The fact that Rhodey only let him do it under his watchful eye was beside the point.)

Even though he hadn’t wanted to talk shop over dinner, somehow the conversation had turned back around to the Accords anyway, and between bites of meat lovers and barbecue chicken pizza Tony had pulled up a holographic copy of the amendments on his phone for Rhodey to glance through. They bounced ideas like ping-pong over the kitchen table, Rhodey’s military experience offering a somewhat different perspective than what either Tony or Pepper had to offer. Tony made notes on the draft, concepts to bring up to Pepper when he got back to the tower.

It was somewhere between “A liaison sounds like a great idea. Everett Ross - the _other_ Ross - yeah, he might be on our team if we talk to him...” and “Have you heard anything from Fury or Agent Hill lately? We might want their input on this…” that a notification pinged on Tony’s phone, sending a text box to the top corner of the hologram.

Rhodey barely caught some of the message - ( _‘Yeah, I’d love to! I’m about to head home–’_ ) - and a fragment of a name - (‘ _Pe-_ ’ from the first name, and another ‘ _P_ ’ as the initial of the last) - before Tony caught sight of the notification and swiped the entire hologram away with one hand. He picked up his phone, glanced at it, and Rhodey watched as an odd sort of smile appeared on his friend’s face.

“Hang on, honeybear, I need to make a call,” Tony said, and he wandered off toward the couches across the room with his phone still in hand.

Huh. Weird. Perhaps it was Pepper on the phone, Rhodey reasoned, and it seemed as good a theory as any from the light expression Tony was sporting...but something told him that wasn’t quite it.

“Colonel Rhodes?”

Rhodey pulled his eyes away from Tony to see Vision strolling into the kitchen, a strangely contemplative look on his face.

“Hey Vis, what’s up?”

“I wonder if perhaps you know where Mr. Stark is…?” At Rhodey’s glance toward Tony on the couch, Vision followed his gaze. “Ah. I see.”

“You might wait a sec if you need to talk to him though,” Rhodey pointed out, wheeling himself away from the kitchen table and over to the fridge to get a drink. “He’s got a call to make, he says.”

“I suppose that would be polite of me, wouldn’t it?” Vision smiled gently, he ran his hands down the front of his cardigan to straighten it, then laced his fingers together in front of the neatly fastened buttons. “I can wait here, if you don’t mind?”

“Nah, of course not.”

“...Parker! Hey, kid, how was your patrol?”

Rhodey, who had only just grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, perked up at Tony’s words. Parker, huh? Despite himself, he found his curiosity peaked, and he listened in discreetly from his spot in the kitchen. Tony hadn’t settled onto a couch, but rather was wandering through the seating area with one hand in his pocket, his phone against his ear. He rolled his eyes.

“Hey, hey, woah,” Tony was chuckling now, “slow down, Underoos. Take a breath. I’m not there to catch you if you pass out from lack of oxygen.” A pause. A snort. “Tony. Say it with me, _To-ny_. I swear I’ll get you to catch on one of these days.” Another pause. “Go back to telling me about that guy and the hot dogs. How many free meals does that bring you to since Friday? Four? Five?” Tony paused mid-stride to listen, his toe scuffing against the rug beneath his feet. “Oh, _six_ , my mistake. See, you didn’t tell Happy about that lady who threw a box of pizza at you because she thought–” He trailed off, his grin widening, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when bright laughter escaped him. “Peter, of _course_ she thought you were–” … “–well when you jump down out of nowhere in the dark and say _‘Hey, can I walk you home?’_ any woman in New York would be smart enough to turn and run the other direction! You don’t have enough of a hero reputation yet to–” . . . “–well maybe _start_ with that next time. It’s not like Little Miss Pizza Slice knew she was being followed by a creep!” There was another brief pause, and then Tony chuckled. “Alright, alright, sorry. Forget I said anything. Did you ask Aunt Hottie about tomorrow?”

_Aunt Hottie?_ Rhodey’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, I know _you_ said yes, but I’m gonna need parental consent. Guardian consent. Whatever.” Tony padded over to one of the sofas and sank into it, his free arm draped along the top of the cushions, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against the fabric. Rhodey couldn’t see Tony’s face fully from this angle, but he seemed to be smiling. “C’mon, Webs, cut me some slack. I’m trying to be responsible here. It’s a new concept but I’m doing my best.”

An unbidden incredulous snort escaped Rhodey, and he quickly hid his smirk behind his water bottle when Tony looked his way. The man raised an eyebrow at him, glanced toward Vision - who was now sitting on a stool at the island, his back to the seating area - and cleared his throat quietly.

“...uh...yeah, same time. Alright, kid. See you tomorrow. And bring some clothes you don’t care about. We’re working in the garage.”

Then he hung up, cutting off the distant, tinny, excited babbling Rhodey could barely hear coming through the phone’s earpiece.

“Peter _Parker_ ,” Rhodey smiled cheekily at his friend. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Don’t.” Tony glared half-heartedly in return, pointing his phone at the other Avenger. “Just don’t. Leave it alone.”

“Is it not supposed to be a public fact that you are mentoring Mr. Parker?” Vision asked, turning around in his seat to cast a curious frown in Tony’s direction. “I assumed his double identity as Spider-Man and your intern was common knowledge…”

At Tony’s sharp look he trailed off.

“...or perhaps not.”

“Yeah, perhaps _not_ ,” Tony muttered irritably.

Rhodey wasn’t sure when Vision had gotten a hold of all the information he seemed to have on this Parker kid, but it wasn’t too surprising. The guy had a tendency to see things before anyone else did and could draw accurate conclusions within the blink of an eye. If Tony had so much as talked about the kid within earshot of Vision in his last few visits to the compound, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to assume Vision had enough information by now to know everything there was to know about Parker on a base level.

Tony took a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he stood up. He shoved both hands in his pocket along with his phone and strolled to the edge of the kitchen, pinning both Rhodey and Vision with equally weighted looks.

“Listen, I’m trying to keep the kid safe, okay?” he bit out. “I already told him Pepper and Happy would have to know who he was, and Rhodey - you were on that list too. But the less people who know about him the better. If you haven’t already figured it out, he’s underage...and I’m not putting him at risk. I’m not letting Ross get his grubby hands on Peter, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you both kindly keep your damn mouths shut about this?” He narrowed his eyes sharply. “If something happens to Parker, that’s on me. I don’t even want the rest of the team knowing about him. No offense, but I don’t exactly trust them at the moment.”

“Of course,” Vision nodded curtly. “My apologies, I wasn’t aware that it was meant to be undisclosed. I can help to keep it that way. Though…” he glanced to the side, toward Rhodey, folding his hands neatly atop his crossed knee. “...if you intend to bring him here at any point, it may be difficult to keep him entirely undiscovered if you’re pursuing pardons for the rest of the Avengers, as you mentioned to me last time you were here.”

“He’s got a point, Tones,” Rhodey agreed. Tony’s focus snapped to him, and Rhodey could see the tension in his friend’s jaw that most people might miss. “What’s the cover story? If you want us in on this, we’ve gotta be on the same page.”

“Intern,” Tony muttered. “He’s - officially, on paper - Parker’s my personal intern over at SI. The kid’s smart enough for that to be the case, and seeing as I’m considering giving him an actual internship down the road, it might not actually be a lie in the long run.”

“He fixed up my braces, right?” Rhodey remembered, and when Tony nodded he let out a low whistle. “Damn. Yeah, I probably owe him for that.”

“Like I said, send a thank you note.”

“ _Boss, Miss Potts is on the line. Should I put her on hold as well?_ ”

“Should–” Tony stared at the ceiling for a brief, incredulous moment, then sighed, dragging both hands down his face. “She’s not Secretary Ross, Fri. Today is _not_ the day for your attitude.”

“ _But isn’t it always? You programmed me, after all._ ”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Under the sound of Rhodey’s laughter, Tony abandoned both him and Vision behind in the kitchen, already retrieving his phone from his pocket as he went. Before he could step through the doorway to leave he turned around.

“Keep quiet about this, got it?” he told them, the mild threat in his words making itself known despite his exhausted tone. “Whatever you know about Parker doesn’t leave this group. Circle of trust. Tell _no one_.”

Rhodey raised a hand in response, letting Tony know he understood, then he paused in quiet wonderment as he watched Vision physically “zip his lips” and throw away the key. Tony blinked at the android for a half a second before he turned away, already on the phone before he vanished from sight.

Rhodey, meanwhile, stared at the other Avenger in the room, his jaw slack. It seemed to take Vision a moment or two to register that he was being watched.

“What?” Vision asked innocently, looking confused by Rhodey’s reaction...and Rhodey just shook his head slowly. He wheeled himself back over to the remains of his dinner.

“That might be the most human thing I’ve ever seen you do, Vis. I hope to god FRIDAY caught that on camera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being MAJORLY Tony-Heavy. I won't necessarily apologize - I do love writing him lol - but I'll at least promise that we'll get a more Peter-centric chapter soon, if not next. I didn't get the chance to write the webhead much this time, and I miss it! It just didn't fit in well with the groundwork I was trying to lay.
> 
> So now, Pepper knows who Spider-Man is, though they haven't met...and while Rhodey has Peter's name, he's going to be respectful enough to wait until Tony introduces him to the kid, because he could tell how serious his bestie was when he made everyone swear to keep their mouths shut. (Look at him...he says he doesn't care and he's trying to keep his distance a bit, but already he's automatically getting protective of the kiddo. :3 I think we've all known Tony has a soft spot for genius kids since Iron Man 3, okay? It's obvious.)
> 
> Oh...and to anyone wondering if THAT kid will make an appearance...


	5. Close Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's "fake" internship is looking less fictional by the second, Tony has a few (dreaded) phone calls to make, and Peter's Friday night brush with crime gets a little too close for comfort...on multiple levels.

Peter was buzzing by the time he got into the car with Happy on Tuesday. He hadn’t been expecting to go to the lab again until Friday even though Mr. Stark had told him they would schedule a second weekly visit to the tower. Because of this, yesterday’s text conversation (and the following phone call, which had come out of nowhere and had left him grinning for the rest of the day) was a fantastic surprise. _And Mr. Stark had said he could work in the garage today?! So cool!_

With his high level of excitement and the boundless eager energy he was exuding, it didn’t surprise him much (or even catch his notice, really) that Happy closed the divider almost immediately once Peter was in the car. It seemed to take longer than usual to get to Stark Tower...though Peter never really had the best sense of the passage of time on a normal day, so it was probably just due to his impatience. Once they had pulled into the parking garage and Happy gestured for him to just take the damn elevator himself, Peter was off like a rocket, barely reining in his excitement enough to force himself to _walk_ instead of _run_ when he finally reached the floor of Tony’s lab.

Just like last week, Peter could hear loud rock music from the moment the elevator doors opened, and he was grateful his senses were under better control this time around. But for the sake of his own sanity…

“H-Hey, FRIDAY?” he said, glancing toward the ceiling. (Or - should he be looking for a camera? Wasn’t that what Mr. Stark and Happy did? Would there even be visible cameras in here?)

“ _Yes, Peter?_ ”

“Hi! Um.” Peter gripped his backpack straps tighter, tilting his head to the side and craning his neck to see if there was a camera hidden above the kitchen cabinets across the room. “Um - I was wondering if you could maybe...tell Mr. Stark I’m here? So I don’t - uh - scare him? Like last time?”

“ _Of course, Peter._ ”

By the time Peter smiled and looked toward the glass-paned door of the lab, he could see Tony leaning away from his workstation to look for Peter. The man smirked and gave Peter a half-wave, gesturing for him to come inside. As he did so Peter heard the music drop to a much more manageable volume and he let out a small happy sigh of gratitude. Even if Mr. Stark didn’t know how loud it normally was for Peter, or how much it bothered him, he was more appreciative of that small change that he could say.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” Peter greeted his mentor happily, dumping his backpack by the door.

“Hey there kid,” Tony shot back. He spun his chair to face Peter, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and eyeing him curiously. “Are those your grubbies?”

“My…?” Peter frowned, his face screwing up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Your work clothes,” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure I mentioned we’d be working in the garage?”

“I, uh–” Peter blinked, the words taking a second or two to sink in. Then he grinned, his eyes bright. “Right! Yeah, I’ve got ‘em in my backpack.” He paused. “...do you want me to–”

“ _Yes_ , go, get changed,” Tony rolled his eyes and waved Peter towards the bathroom by the kitchen. “Then get back here. We’re heading downstairs.”

“Down…?” Peter paused again, his bag half lifted back onto his shoulder, and he tilted his head at Tony. Downstairs? But Mr. Stark had a garage up here, right next to his lab, didn’t he? Peter glanced between Tony and the stylish garage door at the other end of the room. “Why are we–”

“Go. Change. Now.” Tony stood and ushered him out the door, a half-amused half-exasperated smile on his face. “Move it, Parker. You can ask as many questions as you want once we get down there.”

“Yes, sir!” Peter tripped over himself darting back through the door, racing for the bathroom amid Tony’s latent shout of:

“And stop calling me sir!”

Once Peter had swapped his school clothes out for a pair of worn denims and an old blue-and-yellow shirt from a band trip which he didn’t exactly feel attached to, Tony was leaning against the wall beside the elevator with his phone in hand. The man glanced up from the screen as Peter approached.

“Dump your stuff if you want,” he said as he tucked his phone in his pocket. “We’ll be back up here later anyway.”

After quickly tossing his backpack into the nearest plush armchair, Peter hurried after his mentor into the elevator. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of a paint-stained zip-up hoodie as the doors slid shut.

“Bring us down to the shop, Fri,” Tony tossed towards the ceiling. FRIDAY’s response of ‘ _Yes, boss._ ’ was all but ignored as he turned to Peter and asked, “So how was school, kid?”

Peter blinked once, twice, staring at Tony in quiet puzzlement. What? _Did Mr. Stark just ask–_

“Uh…” Peter shook himself, still not quite computing the concept of _Tony Stark_ asking him how his school day was. “...good, I guess?” He shifted on his feet, his knee bouncing. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I flunked my Spanish quiz - b-but I got bonus points on my history essay! _And_ I finished all my chemistry homework - like - ten whole minutes before the bell rang. Mr. Cobbwell came over to check my work because I was literally playing with a mini Rubik’s cube for the last ten minutes.” He grinned to himself, remembering the idea Ned had roped him into involving a mini-Rubik’s-cube-based art piece for his wall. They just needed to collect three-hundred-or-so more cubes. Without really thinking, he said proudly (and impulsively): “I was trying to make it look like an eyebrow.”

“You what?”

He _what?_

Peter glanced sideways at Tony, who was giving him an odd, amused look. With a sheepish smile, Peter shoved his hands deep in his hoodie pockets and shrugged.

“I, uh…” This was probably the dumbest thing he had decided to say in front of Mr. Stark. Ever. They’d only known each other for like a week and a half, and already Peter was revealing just how much of a nerdy dork he was. (The Star Wars reference in Germany didn’t count; that was a badass move and he knew it.) “...nothing.”

“No no, I’m intrigued by this,” Mr. Stark grinned - _it looked feral, oh god_ \- and he turned towards Peter, raising an eyebrow at him. “Rubik’s cubes and eyebrows?”

Peter went pink and cleared his throat, deciding to rush through it...like ripping off a band-aid.

“W-Well I’m kind of - uh - working on this idea my friend had... _it’s super dumb, don’t worry about it, I was just bored_...where, like, we wanted to make this pixel art of Han Solo out of mini Rubik’s cubes? B-But, uh–” He cleared his throat again, shrugging, his knee bouncing more rapidly and his fists shoving down into the pockets of his hoodie and pulling the fabric taut. “–well I mean, eheh, that’s - _ahem_. That’s a lot of cubes, so...I don’t - I mean, it’d be, like, over a hundred bucks if we buy ‘em in bulk–”

_What the hell was he talking about?_

Or - well, yeah, okay, he _knew_ what he was talking about. He’d talked it out with Ned at some point before Germany, and between the two of them they had done the math and mapped out a few pixel patterns for their favorite characters on Ned’s laptop. Though, looking back, if Peter had chosen the Death Star or an X-wing, he wouldn’t have even _had_ an eyebrow to slip up about in the first place, and he wouldn’t be making an absolute fool of himself in front of his mentor and idol.

Beside him, Mr. Stark started chuckling, and Peter hunched his shoulders and looked away in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I know, it’s - it’s stupid.”

“No, no!” Tony denied, still laughing to himself. Peter felt a hand pat his shoulder twice. “No, kid, that’s - wow. That’s some serious dedication. You, uh–” He cleared his throat, failing to hide the laughter in his words. “–have you gotten much done yet?”

“Like...ten or so,” Peter mumbled. “Ned’s got some he’s working on too, but that was before we went to Berlin so I haven’t, like…focussed on it much.”

And truth be told, with how fleeting some of Peter’s project ideas ended up being, this one would probably get added to the ever-growing pile of short-term fixations that he never had the motivation to stick it out with. Things that weren’t specifically science, LEGO, or Spider-Man related, more often that not, tended to fall by the wayside.

That was probably half the reason Peter’s Spanish grade had never met his usual academic standards.

“I expect photos when it’s done.” Mr. Stark’s teasing tone finally drew Peter to look at him right as the elevator doors opened. It was with very little grace that Peter hurried to keep up with Tony’s decisive strides through the garage - the one that Happy always dropped him off in - and as he was led toward a door in the corner of the concrete room, the elevator they had taken the day they got back from Germany caught Peter’s eye. He frowned.

“Hey, uh...Mr. Stark?”

“We’re never gonna make it to ‘Tony’, are we?” came the muttered reply. “Yeah, kid?”

“Why do you even have two elevators down here?” Peter asked, walking backwards to keep his curious gaze locked on the far elevator’s doors across the room. “I mean if this one’s your personal one, why–”

“This one is the only one that reaches my private floors,” Tony told him. Peter heard a keypad beep and a door unlock behind him and turned around in time to duck through the door Tony was holding open for him. “It reaches the Avengers levels same as the other one, but if I’d taken you up that way the first time you were here, it would’ve dropped us right outside the Avengers lab.” He flashed a grin at Peter as the door shut behind them. “You wouldn’t have seen the rest of the lab spaces on that floor. I didn’t want you to skip all the good stuff.”

Peter stared, comprehension dawning.

“You just wanted to show off!”

“Well duh, of course I did.” Tony rolled his eyes and ducked past Peter, leading him down a set of spiral stairs that made a U-shape down to a glass wall and door that looked fairly similar to the one outside Mr. Stark’s lab upstairs.

Once inside, Peter realized that the space was almost as big as the garage above it.

“You know I probably would’ve been impressed either way,” he shrugged as he squinted through the darkness, trying to see. “You didn’t have to worry about–”

Tony clapped his hands and muttered a quick “Lights, Fri” and before Peter’s enhanced eyesight could finish adjusting to the darkened space, the room illuminated to reveal the equivalent of a mechanic’s wet dream, along with an extensive collection of cars that Peter was sure each cost a small fortune. Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips.

“I’d give you a tour,” Tony drawled as he strode into the space, clearly at home, “but I figured a crash course would work just fine. You’re a smart kid, you’ll figure it out.”

Peter nodded numbly, following after Mr. Stark like a lost duckling as he took in all the shiny cars and high-end equipment and _oh my god that’s an old hotrod with flames painted on it, what the hell_.

“So? What do you think?”

Peter dragged his focus back to Mr. Stark, who was leaning back against a well-used workbench set into the wall, watching Peter with his arms crossed over his chest. Peter pointed to the hotrod.

“I think I know where you got your color palette for Iron Man.”

Tony let out a startled laugh, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes, and Peter felt a smile begin to spread across his face.

“You’re not wrong, Webs.” Tony shook his head and looked away. “That’s not what I meant, but sure, let’s go with it.” He shoved away from the workbench to approach a vehicle that Peter only now noticed had been parked off to the side overtop of a hydraulic lift, one whose rear hood had been popped open and whose engine seemed to be half-dismantled across the metal workbench nearby. Peter spotted a pale blue bumper placed carefully on a second table a few feet from the first.

“Have you ever worked on a car before?” Tony asked, standing over the vehicle with his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he threw Peter a curious look.

“Not - well, not recently,” Peter shrugged. He came over to stand near his mentor, keeping a few steps back from the car. He didn’t feel qualified to touch it, let alone stand this close to it. His only attempts at practicing driving with May and Ben had ended disastrously. “...I helped my Uncle Ben fix the car a few times,” he answered. “But even then it was mostly, like, handing him tools or refilling the coolant or something.” At Mr. Stark’s raised eyebrow, he added: “I-I changed a tire once?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘barely’,” Tony nodded. “Let’s change that. This? It’s an Audi R8 Spyder,” he introduced, gesturing to the car with one hand. He dragged a wheeled stool over from the workbench to sit in front of the open engine. “Seemed a fitting choice for your first try, Spider-Kid. She’s got a few kinks I need to work out, and seeing as you’re basically my protege–”

“Padawan,” Peter corrected automatically.

“–my _protege_ ,” Tony repeated with a roll of his eyes and a smirk, “I want to see what you know, and how quickly you can learn. Basically...I want to see what you can do.”

Peter’s eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching. He did?

“You...do?” he asked, knowing full well how breathless and awed he sounded.

“Yup.” Tony spun his stool to face Peter. “Last week you did a hell of a job with Rhodey’s leg braces. Nice work, Underoos. I was impressed.”

Peter felt his heart swell with pride at the compliment, and a small smile came to his face. _Tony Stark_ thought he did a good job? He was _impressed_?

“So consider this a trial run,” Tony went on, either completely oblivious to the summersaults Peter’s stomach was doing or ignoring it for Peter’s sake. “Last week you did a bit of tech work and some coding. Today we’re in the garage. Friday we’ll hit the chem lab and take a look at that web formula of yours, and next week we’ll go over a little more engineering since you only spent about ten minutes tinkering last time. Sound good?”

“I–” Peter stared at his mentor with wide eyes, his pulse leaping. A massive grin lit up his expression and he was practically buzzing and bouncing on the balls of his feet before he could really stop himself. “Yes, yeah! Absolutely! That’s - that sounds so awesome, Mr. Stark! I can’t wait!”

“Alright!” Tony clapped his hands together with a grin, spinning to face the engine. “Pull up a seat and let’s get to work. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that the engine is housed in the rear of the vehicle as opposed to the front. I could talk about why that changes the way you drive, but since you’re still in diapers and I doubt you’re anywhere close to getting your license, we’ll just focus on the engine components.”

“Hey!” Peter spluttered, heat rising in his cheeks as he glared petulantly at his mentor. “I’m not–”

“Sit down, Spider-Baby, I’m trying to teach you something.”

With only mild grumbling and rolled eyes, Peter did as he was told, pulling up a second wheeled stool beside Tony’s. At first he was just as hesitant as before to get too close to the exposed engine. He didn’t want to ruin such an expensive vehicle by mistake. But it wasn’t too long before Mr. Stark hooked one hand beneath the edge of Peter’s seat and yanked him closer, the castor wheels of both stools colliding against each other as the mechanic urged Peter to lean in and take a closer look at a piston which, he explained, was misfiring and needed repairing or replacing.

Peter was honestly a little surprised by how quickly the afternoon passed after that. Even though he had left early the week before because of his new suit upgrades, he was aware that he normally had about four hours of time blocked out after school for his “internship”. It sounded like a long time - his hour-long classes always felt like they dragged on and on - but before he knew it, it was approaching seven o’clock and Tony was wrapping things up.

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Tony patted Peter on the shoulder, stopping the teen before he could put away all the tools that were sitting out. “Just leave ‘em.”

“O-Okay...” Peter set the ratchet and screwdriver he was holding back on the workbench, the metal-on-metal sound making him wince despite its low volume. Perhaps he needed to invest in earplugs or something for the garage in case Mr. Stark ever brought him down here again...it certainly got louder down here than it did up in the lab. “Are you sure you don’t want help cleaning up?”

“Nope, I’ve still got to finish up a few things tonight,” Tony said. He was wiping his recently-washed hands on a clean towel, one which Peter had used mere minutes before him. “Unless you’re planning on being here at 2 a.m., I think I can handle it myself.”

“Oh.” Peter smiled sheepishly, scooping up his sweatshirt from where he’d left it on a workbench. He stared down at a stain on the fabric and wrinkled his nose. “...ugh, grease is hard to get off.”

From his spot near the sink, Tony laughed. He tossed the damp towel onto the counter beside him.

“Stating the obvious, Webs,” he chuckled, turning around. “Why do you think I told you to wear clothes you don’t care about?”

Glancing down, Peter winced slightly at the dark stripe on the sleeve of his hoodie, right below a splotch of dried yellow paint from when he and May had repainted the living room. Oh well. This was his junk hoodie for a reason. He shoved his arms through the sleeves, zipping it up as Mr. Stark spoke up again.

“You’re a quick learner, Parker,” he said. He nodded towards the stairs, gesturing for Peter to follow him. “I’ve gotta say, not many kids your age can figure out the inner workings of a V10 engine in about three hours’ time.”

“I...what?” Peter blinked owlishly at him. “I wasn’t…I-I mean, I just...I only did what you said.” He shrugged, his shoulder hunching. He let his eyes dance around the garage one more time before darting up the stairs after Tony. “l think I still prefer working up in the lab than down here - n-no offense!” Peter’s tongue tangled over his words as he tried to backtrack, suddenly worried he had blurted out the wrong thing - _again_. “I-It’s not that I didn’t have fun, because I did! Definitely! But it’s - I mean, cars aren’t really - like - compared to computers and–”

“Jesus, Spiderling, it’s fine. Just take the compliment.” Mr. Stark’s blunt tone caught Peter off guard and he snapped his mouth shut, almost tripping on the top step of the staircase. The raised eyebrow he received from his mentor brought a flush to his face. “Is that a normal thing, you denying your own skills?”

When Peter only opened his mouth a few times in silence, not quite able to form a response, Tony shook his head and pushed open the door at the top of the stairs.

“You know what? Nevermind. Come on, let’s take a quick look at your suit before you go. I want to run diagnostics to make sure the upgrades aren’t buggy now that you’ve had a chance to field test it. And while we’re at it, I’d love a copy of any other notes you’ve got on that web fluid of yours. We’re taking a look at it on Friday, so I want it on file before then. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“Yeah, sure!” Peter nodded quickly, his thoughts already on the worn red notebook he had written all of his formulas in. Today had been a chemistry day at school as well, during which Peter usually (though not today) worked on his webs discreetly in class. And _that_ meant– “I should have my notes in my backpack upstairs,” he said brightly. He smiled at Mr. Stark when his words gained a lopsided smile, thrown casually over the man’s shoulder.

“Then we’ll get those transferred over to digital _tout suite_. I’ll add it to the file I started for that dissolving agent I got from you last week. FRIDAY? Lab.”

The pair had made it to the elevator, and Peter didn’t even hesitate to follow Mr. Stark inside. He was beginning to recognize when his mentor expected Peter to follow after him and when he was headed off to do his own thing. (He was also slowly coming to terms with the fact that Mr. Stark really did want him here, and this wasn’t just some sort of courtesy training to keep him out of trouble, or as a ‘thank you’ for helping in Germany.)

“ _Sure thing, Boss. Miss Potts also left schematics for an R &D project on your workbench, and she would like you to call her once Mr. Parker has gone home._”

“It’s probably Octavius and Ferguson with that biotech project from last week,” Mr. Stark murmured thoughtfully toward Peter as the doors closed. “What was it, an arm? A hand? Something? The prosthesis. Funny. That seems to be a running trend in the building right now. Oh–” He did a quick sort of rhythmic clapping and snapping pattern with his hands, his eyes lighting up as a thought seemingly occurred to him. Peter’s eyes latched onto the rapid, complicated pattern for the brief time it lasted, the upward movement of the elevator going unnoticed. Then Mr. Stark shook a pointed finger at him and went on. “–speaking of which, Rhodey says thank you for the legs. They’re not finished by any means - I need to wait until he’s made more progress in physical therapy before I can make any more significant progress on my end - but your work last week was a big help. I told him to thank you in person...we’ll see if he actually listens this time. He does a better job of that than I do, so I’ve got hope.”

Peter dragged his eyes away from Mr. Stark’s moving hands to meet his gaze. Rhodey’s...legs? Rhodey. _Colonel Rhodes_. War Machine’s leg bracers. The moment he made the connection, Peter stared, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly.

_Rhodey says thank you._

“He - really?” he asked, that same little bubble of pride from earlier inflating in his chest again. “But...I-I didn’t even finish what I was doing!”

“No, but you were almost there,” Tony pointed out, tilting his head. “All it took was a few more soldered wires, and even FRIDAY could figure out how to get to the finish line. I told you earlier, I was impressed, kid. Why do you think I brought you down to the shop today? I don’t let just anyone touch my cars, Underoos.”

That’s right. He had, hadn’t he? He’d said he was _‘impressed’_. Mr. Stark had said it himself, and just like the first time, Peter’s stomach did an odd flip at the thought of _Tony Stark_ being impressed by _his_ work...by _Peter Parker_ , instead of Spider-Man.

Or maybe his stomach doing backflips was just caused by the elevator stopping at Mr. Stark’s lab floor.

(Peter _had_ eaten quite a bit of Chinese takeout two hours ago.)

“Why don’t you go change, Pete?” Tony suggested, his hands pocketed as he strolled out of the elevator with Peter at his heels. “Go put on something a little less grungy, and we’ll take a look at your suit.”

“What about the web fluid?” Peter asked, his thoughts flitting back to the red notebook he was (fairly) certain was waiting in his backpack a few feet away. He flicked his gaze towards the bag in question. “It’s kind of close to seven-thirty, isn’t it? I mean, usually, a new batch of fluid takes at _least_ half an hour to make, and–”

“If we run out of time, we’ll do it on Friday,” Tony waved it off. He left Peter behind and headed for the lab door, glancing at Peter’s backpack as he went. “We’ll be in the chem lab anyway, remember? It’ll be fun. Just hurry up and change, will you? I at _least_ want to make sure your web shooters won’t lock up and malfunction a few hundred feet above Queens any time soon, especially after that carjacker managed to slam your wrist in a car door–”

“That was nothing!” Peter spluttered, pausing halfway through unzipping his bag to shoot a look at his mentor. “I barely got a bruise, Mr. Stark. It wasn’t even worth telling _Happy_ about! I didn’t–” He froze, his jeans from school clutched in one hand. “...wait, I _didn’t_ tell Happy about that. How did you even–”

There was a quiet pause, during which Tony opened the lab door and turned back to level Peter with a thoughtful look. He seemed to contemplate his words. Then:

“FRIDAY tells me when your suit sustains damage,” Tony said flatly. “She also tells me when you’re injured so you don’t end up bleeding out in an alley somewhere. You’re welcome.”

“She does?” Peter asked. He stared incredulously at Mr. Stark, not entirely sure if he felt insulted that his mentor felt the need to monitor him...or touched that Tony cared enough to do so. “...oh. Um–” He glanced down into his bag, eyeing the suit that sat folded at the bottom. He tugged it out and flipped the collar inside out to examine the intricate patterns of wiring and circuitry embedded into the material. “...how does that work exactly? Are there sensors throughout the whole suit? Or are there scanners at strategic points in the fabric? Because if I could damage them by landing the wrong way, I kind of want to know where–”

“If that’s what you want to focus on today before you go, be my guest, but not until _after_ you change your damn clothes.” Tony clapped his hands together twice, holding the lab door open with his shoulder and an amused grin. “Chop-chop Parker. I’m in no rush, but like you said, it’s almost seven-thirty. It’s only _your_ time you’re wasting here, _Padawan_.”

Peter almost tripped in his rush to get to the bathroom, and he was only partially aware of Mr. Stark’s half-stifled chuckling as the lab door closed behind him.

* * *

Working down in the shop with the kid had been a blessed distraction from everything else on Tony’s plate. Peter had left maybe an hour ago, after which Pepper had come upstairs to talk about both the R&D schematics she had left in the lab, and about scheduling a meeting to discuss even _further_ redrafts that needed to be written for the amendments to the Sokovia Accords. Rhodey’s input had been more than helpful and Tony planned on bringing him into the next meeting in a virtual sense if he was available.

With the fact that Rhodey currently had nothing on his schedule besides recovery, it was unlikely that he _wouldn’t_ be available.

It was later that evening, when Tony was standing in the lab going over information FRIDAY had gathered on Thaddeus Ross, that he was alerted to an incoming call by his AI.

“ _Boss, it looks like Vision is trying to get in touch with you._ ”

“Any idea what for?” he asked, quietly hoping the android would just call back later.

Tony didn’t want to be pulled away from his research just yet. He knew from experience that once his focus had shifted away from a project, it often took more effort than it was worth to find his way back to the same depths of focus he had been holding onto before the interruption. Ross’ somewhat colorful past was currently laid out before him. The man’s well-hidden history where Dr. Banner was concerned filled an entire display screen all its own, and Tony was only just beginning to see disconcerting similarities between some of the (carefully covered-up) incidents that were tucked discreetly away between the lines of his shining record. There was _something_ here Tony was on the brink of figuring out, something he could use against Ross should the need arise. (Which, with how horribly _well_ things had been going thus far, Tony was sure they would need at some point along the line.)

“ _He says he’d like to talk to you about the rogue Avengers._ ”

Rogue Avengers, huh? Tony snorted. ‘Rogues’ seemed to be a fitting name for them, didn’t it? It was a step better than ‘traitors’, and seeing as Tony didn’t really feel like _most_ of his wayward teammates had outright betrayed him, it seemed one step too far to use a word like that. With a long sigh, Tony folded one arm over his chest and dragged the other hand down his face.

“...yeah, alright. Put him through.”

With a well-practiced hand motion, Tony minimized all of his information on Ross into a small corner of space near his work bench, and Vision’s crimson visage filled the air that the collected research had just vanished from.

“What’s up, Data?”

“ _Mr. Stark. I hope I’m not inconveniencing you, but I had a...concern, I wish to address._ ”

Tony was inches from muttering some bitter comment about _inconveniences_ and _already concerned enough as it is_ , but he held his tongue. Instead he folded his arms together over his chest and quirked an eyebrow at his caller.

“A concern, huh?” he asked, eyeing Vision curiously. “How concerning? Should I be concerned?”

“ _Perhaps that was poor word choice,_ ” Vision said with a small smile. “ _Rather,_ I _am the one concerned...about Wanda._ ”

Oh. _Oh_. Tony’s eyebrows flew skyward. Well, wasn’t that something? Perhaps his impromptu comment toward Wanda about her ‘ _hurting Vision’s feelings_ ’ in Germany had been more on point than he had originally intended.

“Tin Man got himself a heart, huh?” he quipped. “You’re learning all sorts of new tricks lately. Are you sure you’re not turning human on us?”

“ _Maybe in some ways_ ,” Vision admitted. “ _Hopefully in only the ways that matter. Compassion is an interesting emotion, isn’t it?_ ”

The quiet confession drew a surprised blink from Tony. He hadn’t really expected the android to state it so plainly, but perhaps it shouldn’t _be_ so surprising. Their brief conversation from the hospital in Berlin came to mind–

_“How did this happen?”_

_“I became distracted.”_

_“Wh...I didn’t think that was possible.”_

_“Neither did I.”_

–and perhaps this was just as new a concept for Vision as it was for Tony, because even as he heard the words dropped so factually out into the open, he could spot the minute curious thoughtfulness - confusion? - that creased Vision’s synthetic brow ever-so-slightly. Tony had been more distant from the team since Ultron, had all but retired as an active member of the Avengers, so he hadn’t been around quite as often as everyone else to see what had been happening right in front of him. Somewhere between meeting Wanda at the tower and losing her at the airport, Vision had gained some kind of emotional attachment - _how was that possible, when he was for all intents and purposes an android?_ \- to their scarlet sorceress friend.

Huh.

“You’re worried about her?” Tony repeated slowly, watching Vision carefully. “And you’re calling me to tell me this, _why_ exactly? I mean, no offense C-3PO, but if you haven’t noticed I’m not exactly the best person to talk to about exploring your emotional side.”

“ _If I’m not mistaken, you have the means to contact Captain Rogers._ ”

...oh, shit. Tony’s arms dropped, suddenly very aware of the cell phone - _dumbphone_ \- sitting in the top drawer of his workbench.

“Jesus Christ, you’re pulling a Romeo and Juliet. You’re going after your exiled lover.”

“ _While I understand the reference you’re making - and it’s surprisingly fitting - I’m not sure Wanda and I would be classified as ‘lovers’,_ ” Vision pointed out, and if Tony didn’t know any better he would have assumed the android looked sheepish. He let out a groan and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, shifting his hands to massage his temples a moment or two later.

“Lovers, friends, teammates, magic-wielding superheroes,” Tony rambled, and as he dropped into his wheeled chair he had half a mind to pour himself a drink from the bar in the next room when the call was over. “You do realize that if you go now, you’re leaving the entire Avengers team with nobody but me and Rhodey, right? Thor is off world, Banner is missing, and unless you think _Rogers_ ,” he spat the name, “is planning on changing his tune anytime soon, the rest of the team is off the radar for the foreseeable future.”

“ _I am well aware_ ,” Vision nodded. He looked away for a moment, pensive, and when he refocussed on Tony’s strained expression there was something akin to inspiration in his eyes. “ _But I am also aware that you are attempting to bring both Agent Barton and Mr. Lang home. Are you not?_ ”

“That’s the plan,” Tony said, his words weary.

“ _Based on that assessment, would it not be worth also asking after Agent Romanov? She was, until Berlin, on your side as it were. If we can track her down, she would be easier to gain a full pardon for than anyone, wouldn’t she?_ ”

Tony paused. Nat. Up until this point, he had sort of assumed he wouldn’t be able to bring her in at all. When Natasha went off the radar, she _went off the radar_ , and Tony knew full well how impossible she was to find when she didn’t want to be. Perhaps with Vision’s help - and Clint, if he was willing - they could find a way to locate her. If Rogers wasn’t already in touch with her, that is. Clint plus Lang plus Nat - three more to add to their number, bringing the total to five (without Vision) if Tony was willing to put the suit back on and once Rhodey felt fit for combat again. _If_ he felt fit for combat again.

_And if he invited Peter to join_ –

A jolt of something he couldn’t name surged through his chest, and he immediately slammed down that idea. No. Nope. Not happening. The kid didn’t need to be dragged into this anymore than he already was, not until Ross was no longer a threat...and maybe not even after that. Not until Peter was eighteen, at _least_.

“ _I don’t wish to leave the team without another member,_ ” Vision’s voice drew him from his musings, “ _but if we can bulk up our numbers, and if I can then find Wanda…_ ”

The unspoken question hung in the air, tense and untouched. Then Tony let out a long sigh.

“If you can wait long enough for me to get Barton and Lang back home, _legally_ , then...I guess I can’t really tell you not to go find your Scarlet Juliet. But–” Tony pinned him with a sharp look. “–you can’t just vanish. We can’t risk that.”

_Memories of the wormhole, visions of alien hoards, nightmares of powers beyond their control–_

Tony’s jaw clenched as he forced back the unbidden, harrowing thoughts.

“ _I understand._ ” Vision nodded once, smooth and concise as ever. “ _I shall wait until the time is right, and I’ll speak with you before I leave. In the meantime, I’ll also see if I cannot help to locate Agent Romanov._ ”

“Great. Thanks, J. Ah - _Vision_.” Tony winced. Then, in an attempt to brush off the slip-up, he added: “No poison, Romeo. Or maybe you’re the Juliet in this case, since Romeo was the one in exile.”

“ _I believe you may be right_ ,” Vision smiled, humor in his expression. “ _In that case, I won’t involve any apothecaries. You have my word._ ”

“Fantastic.”

Without waiting for a goodbye, Tony waved a hand and dismissed the call. He slumped back in his seat and draped an arm over his eyes, blocking the lights from view in an effort to help his building headache.

Great. Perfect. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Not only did he have a lovesick android on his hands who was now a total flight risk, but he also had to contact _Rogers_ to try and track down a wayward member of the Rogues. Granted, he needed to call Rogers anyway to see where Clint and Scott had ended up...but he would really rather not talk to the man any longer than was absolutely necessary. Even _thinking_ about starting a conversation with him was making his pulse quicken, tension already tightening in his chest beneath the shield-shaped bruises that seemed to refuse to heal. (Logically, he knew it would take six weeks for the thing to go away completely, but he had always been impatient when it came to his injuries. He had things to do, dammit, and that didn’t stop just because he had a bruise the size of California cutting a painful line across his ribs.) Tony pressed a hand gingerly to his chest, rubbing his palm across the sore pattern of black and purple that he knew was sitting just below his shirt. He closed his eyes and forced himself to _breathe_.

It was just a phone call. Rogers wasn’t here. He was probably nowhere near here, and Tony had long since locked him out of the tower in FRIDAY’s protocols. If Captain America so much as set foot in the lobby and even glanced in the direction of the security check, Tony would know.

_It was just a phone call_.

Rolling his chair slowly across the floor, Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second before gritting his teeth and tugging open the drawer. The dumbphone sat innocently atop some files and a spare tablet, dark gray and archaic as ever. His jaw clenched and it took another three or four seconds for him to get up the nerve to reach in and swipe the cell from the depths of the drawer. Before he could think better of it, he flipped it open, selected the only contact saved, and hit ‘call’.

The dial tone on the other end droned on for what felt like an eon, grating at Tony’s nerves enough for him to put the damn thing on speaker and set it on his workbench. He fidgeted in his seat, his knee bouncing incessantly beneath his desk, and his fingers plucked anxiously at the hem of his old band shirt.

_It was a familiar habit. It was something he had always done. It reminded him of someone, now, right in this moment, though the name and the face eluded him_ –

“... _Tony?_ ”

The part of him that hadn’t been expecting an answer at all made his pulse jump, his throat catching and his posture stiffening defensively. Despite the fact that it was through a tinny phone speaker, the voice itself was almost enough to send him spiralling, because the last time he had heard _that voice_ was–

Tony cleared his throat, forcefully narrowing his focus to the task at hand. He could panic when he was done.

“Rogers.” He winced, knowing his voice hadn’t come across nearly as strongly as he had been aiming for.

“ _It’s good to hear from you. I didn’t think–_ ”

“What, didn’t think that I’d call?” Tony cut in, sharp and abrasive. “Almost didn’t. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t need to.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the call, and Tony’s knee bounced a touch more rapidly. Static came over the line, perhaps Rogers sighing at him. That figured.

“ _Tony, I–_ ”

“I’m not here to hash anything out,” he interrupted again, cutting off the apology that he could hear in Ste– _Rogers’_ tone. His lips pursed and he glared, narrow-eyed, at the phone as if it had wronged him. (Maybe it had.) “Don’t even try. I just need to know how to get in touch with Barton and Lang.”

Silence fell for a second time, broken only by Rogers’ breath catching. Another crackle of static, another sigh. The sound of a door opening and closing came across the speaker.

“ _Why? Are you planning on turning them in?_ ”

Immediately, Tony bristled, a white hot irritation burning through him at Rogers’ accusatory tone. He scowled.

“If I was planning on turning anyone in, I’d be asking where _you_ were,” he snapped before he could stop himself. “But hey, guess what? I’m gonna be _honest_ with you - a foreign concept for you to understand, I know, but bear with me–”

“ _Tony–_ ”

“–I’m actually trying to be a _good friend_ and get Barton and Lang the pardon they deserve, since they had absolutely _nothing_ to do with any of this until you dragged them into this mess.”

Tony was seething, burning, he knew he was, and he knew that this wasn’t how he had intended the call to go...but after over a week of radio silence and over a week of time to stew on his frustrations and lingering bitter resentment, it was no wonder he was exploding on Steve - _Rogers, dammit_ \- the way he was.

“ _...you’re trying to get them a pardon._ ” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Tony muttered flatly. “They’ve got kids to get back to, families that I’m sure they’re missing. And like I said, they had nothing to do with this until Germany. Did they even read the Accords before you dragged them into a fight they weren’t a part of, before you convinced them to become fugitives?”

“ _Did that Spider-Man guy read them?_ ”

The non-answer was telling in more ways than one, but more importantly–

“He’s not running from the United Nations and Thaddeus Ross,” Tony hissed, that same unnameable jolt from earlier surging through his chest again, making him defensive. He leaned forward in his seat and propped his elbows on his knees, dragging both hands roughly over his face. “See, this is _exactly_ what I didn’t want to get into. Just tell me how to get in touch with Clint and Lang. I’m trying to fix your mess, so I’d appreciate a little _honesty_ here.”

The word dripped venom, an acidic taste to it that seemed to bubble in Tony’s throat when Rogers’ automatic response was a biting retort of:

“ _MY mess? You say that as if you had no hand in this–!”_

“If you had just _listened_ to me from the beginning, we wouldn’t be in this mess at all, and you could have been one of the people heading the damned amendment meetings that I’ve been attending on a tri-weekly basis to get the fucking Sokovia Accords rewritten in a way that benefits all of us! But you couldn’t even do _that!”_

Tony’s volume had risen to a shout, and he wasn’t even sure when he had gotten to his feet. His eyes were narrowed and locked heatedly on the cell phone on his work bench, his chest heaving and his fists curled at his sides. God, he didn’t have the mental energy for this right now.

“ _What are you talking about? What amendm–_?”

“I’m done. I can’t do this. I’m _done_.” Tony ran both hands through his hair, his fingers tightening in the unruly strands. “Barton and Lang. You’ve got ten seconds, and then I’m hanging up and finding them myself, and it’ll take me that much longer to build a solid case for them both to be let off the hook for what happened in Germany.”

_Ten...nine...eight…_

“ _They’re both at Clint’s place_ ,” came Steve’s flat and somewhat stilted reply. “ _Nobody knows it exists, so they’re safe there...and between Clint choosing to stay retired and Lang wanting to lay low, it was the smartest choice._ ”

The Bartons’ farm, huh? Missouri. So _that’s_ where they were holed up. Tony let out a long, shuddering breath and reached for the phone, snapping it shut without even giving Rogers the benefit of a farewell or a reply.

Silence rang through the lab, thick and tense and smothering. Without thinking, Tony snatched a wrench off of his workbench and flung it across the room, barely noticing the sharp clang of metal-on-metal as he planted his palms on the table’s surface and leaned on it heavily for support. His arms were shaking, his shoulders shuddering, and his head hung low with tightly-clenched eyes as he struggled to breath. His chest was too tight, his lungs burning, his ribs aching, not enough oxygen...not enough _air_ …

“ _Boss? Boss, it appears you’re having a panic attack. Would you like me to contact Miss Potts? ...Boss?...”_

Somehow, he must have managed to stammer out some sort of negative reply, because by the time his breathing was under control - his back against the desk drawers, his head in his hands, his chest aching but no longer screaming - there was no indication that Pepper had been contacted at all. She didn’t appear in the next fifteen minutes either, or the next twenty, and by the time Tony realized he had been sitting on the floor for almost half an hour - _he could never actually tell without a clock in the room_ \- FRIDAY had begun to play “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” through the lab at a low volume. It almost brought a smile to his lips. Almost.

Once he had made it to the kitchen outside, dropping into one of the comfortable armchairs with the idle thought that he “really ought to buy a couch for inside the lab” floating in the back of his mind, he was nursing a glass of scotch and was almost seventy-three percent sure he regretted having made that phone call at all. Sure, it could have taken longer for him to figure out where Clint and Lang were, but calling Laura Barton would have been one of his next choices. He would have figured it out eventually. The next time he needed to get in touch with someone on his list he would just ask Clint to contact Natasha for him directly. It would save him a hell of a lot of heartache that way, both literally and figuratively.

It was only when his glass was almost completely empty that he realized he had never even asked about Wanda.

* * *

Peter hadn’t meant to. He honestly hadn’t meant to. He had just been distracted, that’s all. It wasn’t like he _planned_ on getting chased by the cops as he swung through the streets of Queens...it just... _happened._

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know _why_ he slipped up either, which made this whole situation rather dumb. He knew better than to let his mind wander in the middle of a takedown.

It was Saturday, and up until five minutes ago the week had been going rather well. He had enjoyed his Tuesday afternoon in the garage with Mr. Stark, and after he and Ned had spent Thursday’s Robotics Club meeting making (rather ridiculous) plans to modify a Roomba to have poor depth perception and a language problem, Peter was feeling like maybe he could balance his time with Ned and Spider-Man in the future without sacrificing his friendship in the process. (Plus he had gotten a better score on his Spanish quiz than he thought he would, which had brought his mood up as well.)

Then yesterday...well, yesterday wasn’t a _bad_ day. But yesterday’s events had been most of the reason behind Peter’s distraction.

Yesterday had been another Stark “Internship” day, and the plan had been for Peter and Mr. Stark to work in the chem lab on Peter’s web fluid and the dissolving agent. They had still done that (and Peter had gotten some interesting ideas on how to improve the fluid) but when Peter had first arrived, his mentor had been in the midst of a video call with that Dr. Octavius lady from the food court. It had lasted only a few more minutes before Mr. Stark had hung up. In that time Dr. Octavius had greeted Peter warmly, then promptly turned back to the discussion they were having about prosthetics and neural interfacing.

(Peter listened in a little, of course he did, because the subject was fascinating...but that wasn’t what lingered in his mind even after the call had ended.)

Peter’s mom had worked at Stark Industries, and Oscorp too. That’s what Dr. Octavius had said last week. Through most of his lab session with Mr. Stark, Peter battled with himself over whether or not to ask his mentor if he had known Mary Parker...but in the end, he didn’t bring it up. It would be weird, wouldn’t it? Mary would have worked for SI over a decade ago, right? Peter couldn’t remember much about his parents’ work, obviously, but he would have remembered if they’d moved. He had lived in the city his whole life...and Stark Tower hadn’t even been built until around the time aliens attacked New York. Unless there was another branch in New York, which - well, yeah, that made sense. The Stark Expo had been in New York. Stark Industries was a worldwide enterprise, right? Clearly they would have had other facilities in the area that _weren’t_ the tower.

Even if that _was_ the case, Mr. Stark had lived in California until...when exactly? It was sometime after the tower was built, anyway. Peter remembered following the news when the Mandarin had come into the limelight, and he remembered watching as missiles tore the Malibu mansion apart and sent it crumbling into the sea.

(He wasn’t scared. Of course he wasn’t scared. His childhood idol was presumed dead, but why would he have been scared? Iron Man always won. Always. There was no reason to be as worried as he totally _wasn’t_ when the house blew up and the news claimed Tony Stark to be a dead man. Obviously they were wrong.)

Anyway, Mr. Stark had lived and worked in California, and the Parkers had lived in New York as far as Peter could remember. Unless his mom had moved before Peter was born–

So anyone could see why he didn’t want to bring it up to Mr. Stark, not when the chances of him actually knowing Mary Parker were slim to none. And that was exactly why, after his thoughts had been spinning since that afternoon, Peter’s first question to May upon arriving home on Friday had been about Mary:

“Hey...May? Did you know Mom used to work at Stark Industries?”

May looked up from the TV, her hand already reaching for the remote to pause the episode of _The Bachelor_ that she had been watching. She tilted her head, giving him a curious look over her glass of wine.

“Yeah, I did,” she said. “That came out of nowhere. Have we talked about it before?”

“No, uh - no. I don’t think so.” Peter shrugged sheepishly. His hands clutched the single strap of his backpack that was slung over his shoulder and his sneakers shifted against the carpet. “Someone at SI told me they knew her, that’s all. I was...uh. I-I was just kind of wondering if you knew much about it?

“A little bit, sure.” May patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Come on, sit. Dump your backpack. Just make sure you don’t lose it between now and tomorrow.”

May’s teasing smile made Peter chuckle, and something about her casual air lifted some of the invisible weight off of his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how much the questions about his mom had been weighing on him until now. Doing as his aunt asked, Peter abandoned his bag on the chair closest to the door and dropped into the empty spot beside her.

“You’ve got questions, huh?” May prodded, bumping shoulders with him. “I can’t promise I know everything, because I think Ben probably knew your parents better than I did...but try me. I’ll answer what I can. Shoot.”

“Y-Yeah, okay - um.” Peter bumped shoulders right back, then settled against her side, his fingers tugging nervously at his hoodie strings. Without needing to be asked, May pulled a hair tie off her wrist and handed it to him to fiddle with. “Well, I know Mom and Dad were scientists. But I don’t think I’ve ever really asked about where they worked. Dr. Octavius at SI said Mom used to work at Stark Industries, and then they met and worked together at Oscorp after that. Which is _crazy_ , that’s two of the world’s leading companies in scientific research and development!”

“Oh yeah, Oscorp,” May nodded. “I remember your parents working there. They were still employed there when they first got married.”

“Dad worked at Oscorp too?” Peter asked. How had he not known this?

...well no, he knew why he’d never known that much about his parents. May and Ben had never wanted to broach the subject themselves so soon after his parents had died, and then Peter had never wanted to ask too many questions in case he made his aunt and uncle feel like he didn’t appreciate them...which led to an endless cycle of nobody asking anything. Peter had only asked about his parents a few times over the years, and Ben had been the one to throw out stray mentions of them when the subject related to them somehow.

“ _This is old news by now,_ ” Ben would say when Peter was watching science documentaries on TV. “ _Richard was pursuing things leaps and bounds ahead of this rubbish, I’d bet you anything._ ”

Or

“ _You’re so much like your mother sometimes,_ ” Ben would tell him with a smile. “ _She was the kind of person to try to see the best in people, no matter what. You hold on to that. Okay? There’s not enough people like that in the world._ ”

So all of this was new information, and the fact that it was new wasn’t a complete surprise.

“He sure did,” May nodded. “They were still working there when you were born.”

“Did they meet there?”

“Did they - wait, have we really _never_ told you how your parents got together?” May asked suddenly, incredulity lacing her tone. She shot him a sideways look, looking utterly baffled by the concept. “You’re serious?”

Peter just shrugged.

“Oh...my god. Okay. Hang on.” May set her half-filled glass of wine on the coffee table and turned to face Peter more fully, clapping her hands together and meeting Peter’s gaze. “Okay. So. Richard was a scientist. From what Ben told me, he used to work at some government job. Some research think-tank... _something_. I don’t know much about the _when_ , but he met your mom through work. She was a scientist too. I guess you can figure out where you got your genius from, huh?”

May flashed him a cheeky smile and Peter chuckled softly, ducking his head. He twisted the hair tie around his fingers, plucking at it aimlessly.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a genius…”

“Peter–” May rolled her eyes. “Peter, you’re almost at the top of your class at a specialized high school for science and technology. You build computers in your bedroom at age fourteen. Don’t try to tell me you’re not smart, honey. I’ll fight you tooth and nail on that one.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but May held up a hand.

“Nope! Don’t even try, mister.” The expectant look she gave him didn’t drop until Peter smiled weakly and conceded with a nod. “Good. I’ll get you to believe me one of these days.”

Peter’s smile widened even as his shoulders bobbed in a self-conscious shrug. May bumped their knees together and he giggled quietly under his breath.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he prodded, gesturing for her to continue. “They met at work?”

“Right.” May carried on. “Mary and Richard met through their jobs. If I’m remembering it right, most of their work was in D.C. when they first started talking, but at some point they got transferred to different companies on the west coast.. Richard went to some tech company in San Francisco - I think it started with a ‘P’? - and Mary was sent off to work at Stark Industries. I think they were some kind of...I don’t know, government liaisons? Something like that? Richard never really said what his job entailed when he visited, but Ben was always convinced it was for “military contracts” or “weapons research” or something similar. I won’t lie, your dad was a bit of a mystery when it came to his work.” She reached for her wine and took a sip, waving a hand through the air. “I mean he worked for the government, they both did. D.C. is always _full_ of secrets.”

A mystery? Secrets? Peter’s brow furrowed, his thoughts whirling. He had always known his parents were scientists, but...this sounded like a lot more than that. What kind of jobs did his parents have if they couldn’t even talk to their family about what they did? _‘Government jobs_ ’ apparently, but what did that even mean?

“You didn’t know what he really did?” he asked, confused. Curiosity clawed at him, his fingers tugging repeatedly at the hair tie that had somehow found its way around his wrist.

“Not really,” May admitted. She sighed and set her glass aside again, folding her legs beneath her and leaning sideways against the back of the couch. She watched Peter for a long moment. “I didn’t know your parents as well as I would have liked to. I _wish_ I knew them better, if only so I could have told you more about them.”

“It’s okay, May,” Peter said with a smile. “Really. I’m just happy to learn something about them, you know?”

May made a dismissive little noise with her tongue, shaking her head.

“You still deserve to know who your parents were, honey, even if they were secretive. They lived across the country when I first married Ben, and even when they moved to New York they didn’t have time to come by very often. Oscorp was really keeping them busy. That was right before they got married, you know. I think they must have been talking the whole time they were in California, because they were planning the wedding within weeks of moving to the city.”

“And then they had me?” Peter threw out, grinning in a way that had May laughing.

“Yeah, then they had you,” she agreed. “I think I actually saw more of them after you started preschool than I did when you were still a baby. You still had those soft brown curls back then too. Your mom let your hair grow out a little longer when you were younger so she could play with your curls. It’s a shame you keep trying to flatten them out–”

Without warning, she reached out and ran her fingers through Peter’s hair, breaking apart the straightened and combed strands with ease. Peter squawked and reeled back, halfheartedly swatting her hand away.

“Maaaay!” he whined beneath his aunt’s laughter. “Stooop! I put effort into that you know!”

“You look great with natural curls!” she insisted, reaching out again to try and restyle Peter’s hair. “Hang on, I’ll show you–”

“No! Hey, quit it–!” Peter leaned back, trying to dodge, and it was only thanks to his spidey-senses that he didn’t hit the coffee table as he tumbled from the couch. He fell in a heap on the carpet in a fit of giggles, and once May was sure he hadn’t hurt himself, the apartment was filled with the sound of laughter from both of them.

That had been last night.

And maybe, _just maybe_ , Peter should have put all thoughts of his parents out of his mind while he was taking down a pair of jewelry thieves, but clearly that didn’t happen. Instead, when he was relieving the webbed-up convicts of their stolen goods, the footsteps and click of a gun didn’t reach him until the cop was at the end of the alleyway.

“FREEZE!”

“Woah, woah, hey–” Peter spun around, his lenses flying wide in surprise. “Hey, it’s okay! I got ‘em. They’re tied up already, officer. I think I got all of the jewelry back too, if–”

“I said _freeze!”_

...wait, _him?_ The cop was talking to _him_?

“Put down the goods and put your hands in the air. _Now!_ ”

“Okay, woah, take it easy,” Peter stammered. He slowly set the pilfered jewelry on the ground in front of him and stepped back, raising his hands just as slowly. “I’m - look, I’m not the bad guy. I’m just helping–”

“I’ve got Spider-Man in sight,” the cop said sharply, muttering into the radio clipped to his shoulder.

Peter stiffened. _What?!_ Wait, no, he wasn’t a criminal. The two guys webbed to the alley wall were the criminals! _They_ were the thieves! Spider-Man had just stopped them from getting away. Since when did the cops want Spidey?! Even from this distance, Peter could hear the tinny words that responded through the earpiece hidden in the officer’s ear.

“ _Bring him in as a witness. See if he’ll come peacefully. I don’t care if the boss likes his work, I want to know who’s under that mask._ ”

...oh, _shit_.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Mr. Officer Sir, but I don’t have time to get interrogated or arrested,” he said brightly. “I’ll miss movie night, and I can’t have that. So, ya know, sorry and all. But I’ve gotta run.”

Before the cop could get a word out, Peter had flexed his fingers, and his already-raised hand shot out a web toward the nearest rooftop. With a sharp yank and a leap, Peter flew skyward, sticking to the side of the building and scaling the wall as quickly as he could.

“I need backup at 30th and Harrison,” he heard from somewhere below him, followed by the slamming of a car door. More muffled words followed: “I’ve got two robbers stuck to the wall in an alley down here, and Spider-Man is on the move. Headed down–”

The piercing sounds of a siren sent a pained throb through Peter’s head and he winced, the rest of the officer’s words lost. _Dammit_. He had to move. Once he had found his footing atop the building, he took off at a run, taking a flying leap off the edge of the roof and throwing out his arm with a quiet _thwip_ of his web shooters. Below him, the officer’s car kept pace with each swing. Within minutes a second car had joined him.

_Crap._ This wasn’t good. Why did the police want _him_? He was the good guy here. He was helping people. Gritting his teeth, he took a few sharp turns, trying to lose the police tailing him.

Mr. Stark would _kill_ him if he got caught.

...plus his ‘secret identity’ wouldn’t be much of a secret anymore, but...priorities.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, _only a moment_ , catching a glimpse of a trio of cars with blaring sirens and flashing lights - _those sirens were making his skull feel like it was being split in two; maybe he could suggest something for the next suit upgrade?_ \- and that one moment was just long enough for him to lose focus for the second time that night. A buzz at the back of his skull alerted him to the approaching fire escape a second too late, and Peter’s frantic dodge to avoid a collision still ended with a sharp pain cutting along his upper arm. He hissed, recoiled, and lost his grip on his web. Shooting out his other hand in panic, Peter managed to cling to the rusted half-broken railing, dragging himself over it single-handed to tumble to the metal grating in a panting heap.

_Move. Keep going. Can’t stop._

It was the screaming instincts in the back of his head alone that made him roll over, dragging himself to his feet and making a beeline for the wall of the building. Swinging through the streets wasn’t helping. In areas with low traffic like this one, it was too easy to be followed...to be spotted. He had to find a different path, one that was harder to pursue. Taking a breath, Peter scaled the building’s outer wall, more than aware of the cars that had surrounded the block and trying to ignore the sharp pain in his arm. It didn’t seem like it was a deep wound...it’d be fine. He just needed to get away before he would take a closer look at it.

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, ducking through side alleys to stay out of sight, it took a little longer than he wanted to finally evade the attention of the police officers that were trailing him rather persistently. The part of the city he ended up in was familiar (though for the life of him he couldn’t identify why when he was still running on pure adrenaline), and he opted to hide on a fire escape nestled between two apartment buildings until he was sure he couldn’t hear any sirens or see any flashing lights in the distance. He had one hand clamped firmly over his upper arm to try and stop the bleeding, and even though he could feel his phone buzzing against his hip in its hidden pouch/pocket/ _thing_ that Mr. Stark had designed into the suit, he didn’t dare try to check his notifications. It could wait ten minutes. Or twenty. Probably. It wasn’t past his curfew yet, he was sure of that, but he knew it was getting close...he just had to wait until the coast was clear before slipping back towards Queens–

The sound of a latch clicked from the building across from his hiding place, the sound of a window sliding open–

_Shit._

Reacting without thinking, Peter flipped across the gap between the buildings and clung to the opposite wall, his arm protesting the speed at which he climbed toward the rooftop. He only let himself relax once he was safely hidden over the edge, the gravel from the roof digging into his back when he flopped onto its surface. His breathing was heavy and his arm was killing him and his phone wouldn’t stop _buzzing_ …

Screw it.

Knowing that it was dark, knowing that this was one of the taller buildings in the area, knowing full well that it was unlikely that anyone would see him, Peter didn’t hesitate to pull off his mask. He could breathe a little more easily now, gulping down air as if his life depended on it (Didn’t it, technically? Wasn’t that how humans _worked_?) and slowly but surely, his heart rate slowed to a more regular pace. The red material of his mask slipped from his fingers and he reached for his phone, struggling to pull it free from the pocket that had been designed for it.

  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
Missed Call (4)  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
FRIDAY said you're bleeding  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
Wtf did you do kid  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
I'm gonna need an answer here Underoos  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
Parker if you don't answer your damn phone I'm showing up with a suit

With a groan, Peter unlocked his phone, tapping out a quick text in reply. He had forgotten Mr. Stark got notified whenever Peter got hurt.

Jedi Master Stark  
  
**Today** 9:42 PM  
**Jedi Master:** FRIDAY said you’re bleeding  
  
**Jedi Master:** Wtf did you do kid  
  
**Jedi Master:** I’m gonna need an answer here Underoos  
  
**Jedi Master:** Parker if you don’t answer your damn phone I’m showing up with a suit  
  
**Today** 9:58 PM  
**Padawan:** I'm fine Mr. Stark. It's just a cut.  
  
**Padawan:** I’m taking a break on a rooftop. Heading home soon  
  


Locking his phone, Peter let his hand fell slack against the rooftop and closed his eyes. He hadn’t exactly been able to sleep well the night before after his talk with May...something which he had almost completely forgotten in his eagerness to go out on patrol. Huh. Maybe that was part of why he was so distracted today. That would certainly make sense, wouldn’t it?

He took a long, slow breath and let his mind drift, opening his ears a little to let the sounds of the city wash over him. When he was trying to focus or trying to sleep, the noises of the world around him could be a bit too much sometimes...but sometimes it was nice to just _listen_. It was insane how far his hearing could reach, and he had half a mind to ask Mr. Stark if they could test that out sometime. It’d be good to know, wouldn’t it? He could hear the voices of people in the apartments and restaurants on the block around him, the sounds of traffic rolling by and televisions chattering noisily on a dozen different channels. Someone somewhere was listening to a Weird Al parody of “Blurred Lines”, and closer - a _lot_ closer - a heavy door opened, and–

“...Peter?”

Peter’s head snapped up, his body jackknifing and his eyes locking on the apartment’s rooftop access door. His jaw dropped in shock while dread and panic pooled in his gut. _Oh, shit–_

“N-Ned. _Hi_. Um–” He glanced down at his suit, at the mask, at his buzzing phone, then back up at Ned, who was standing in the doorway to the roof with a mix of awe and confusion blatantly clear on his face. “...I can explain.”

Mr. Stark was definitely gonna kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer to get out than the last few. For some reason the garage scene was really stumping me, and our family visited my aunt upstate last weekend which set me back a little bit. But it's here! Hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> For those of you who asked about Dr. Octavius after her appearance in Chapter 3, I think I might have finally figured out how I want her involved in the story. No spoilers, of course! But I'm hoping you all enjoy it when I reach that point. :3 Vision made an appearance in this chapter as well, and if you can't tell I'm in the midst of watching WandaVision...so I couldn't help but throw in the new favorite power(ful) couple in the MCU. This takes place shortly after Civil War, and as far as I could tell that was the first time we actually caught glimpses of Vision gaining a semblance of humanity...so while he isn't "in love" just yet, he's certainly well on his way there, isn't he? Basically I got to show Vision being an emotionally confused synthezoid who's just now realizing how much he cares about Wanda, and Tony being the slightly worried and emotionally-stunted dad to his robot son who he *technically* sees as an adult so he's trying not to get too involved lol.
> 
> We got to witness the beginnings of a real internship in this chapter, since Tony is already seeing major potential in Peter's brilliance and wants to give the kid every opportunity to stretch his proverbial legs. (He won't admit how proud he is out loud, but saying he's impressed is pretty damn close!) We also witnessed the first conversation between Tony and Steve since the events in Siberia and - well that...certainly went about as well as one would expect. ^^;;; Don't get me wrong, I do NOT hate Steve Rogers as a character, and Tony does hold some blame for how much of disaster Civil War actually was - but this is being written from Tony's POV and he's *scared*. He's pissed and he's anxious and he's talking to the man who's been giving him nightmares for a week straight. Steve certainly acted like an idiot in a lot of ways in CA:CW, and that will be brought up when they eventually meet face-to-face, but I'm not going to dismiss Tony's mistakes either. We'll get there. I promise.
> 
> And we also got to hear more about Mary and Richard, something I've been thinking about since I first started writing this thing! Bonus points for anyone who can guess who they actually used to work for~


	6. Just a Part of the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being caught unmasked on his best friend's rooftop, Peter and Ned have a talk...which is interrupted by the last person Peter wants to talk to right now.
> 
> Meanwhile, Pepper is beginning to realize that something is different faster that Tony is, and Tony makes a call that goes better than he had hoped it would.

_Peter took a long, slow breath and let his mind drift, opening his ears a little to let the sounds of the city wash over him. When he was trying to focus or trying to sleep, the noises of the world around him could be a bit too much sometimes...but sometimes it was nice to just **listen**. It was insane how far his hearing could reach, and he had half a mind to ask Mr. Stark if they could test that out sometime. It’d be good to know, wouldn’t it? He could hear the voices of people in the apartments and restaurants on the block around him, the sounds of traffic rolling by and televisions chattering noisily on a dozen different channels. Someone somewhere was listening to a Weird Al parody of “Blurred Lines”, and closer - a **lot** closer - a heavy door opened, and–_

_“...Peter?”_

_Peter’s head snapped up, his body jackknifing and his eyes locking on the apartment’s rooftop access door. His jaw dropped in shock while dread and panic pooled in his gut. **Oh, shit** –_

_“N-Ned. **Hi**. Um–” He glanced down at his suit, at the mask, at his buzzing phone, then back up at Ned, who was standing in the doorway to the roof with a mix of awe and confusion blatantly clear on his face. “...I can explain.”_

“Y-You’re…” Ned pointed at him, his eyes roaming over the recognizable suit Peter was wearing, His gaze lingered on the spider emblem on Peter’s chest for a long few seconds. Peter couldn’t remember if he breathed during those few seconds, but he was frozen so stiff with panic sitting on that rooftop that it would have been a _wonder_ if he had managed to get his lungs to function properly at all. “You’re...you’re the _guy_. You’re _him_ , the guy from YouTube. You’re - Peter, you’re the _Spider-Man?!”_

“ _Ned, shhh!”_ Peter shushed him quickly, his eyes darting toward nearby buildings and his fingers floundering across the roof to reclaim his mask. “Quiet! Yes, _yes_ , I’m Spider-Man. Okay? Just - _keep your voice down!”_

“But _you’re Spider-Man_ ,” Ned repeated, lowering his voice to an overeager hiss. “Dude! I saw you, outside my window! You were climbing my building! You’re _so cool_. You’re–” Something else caught his attention and his eyes widened. The door slipped from his grip and closed heavily behind him in his shock. “You’re _bleeding_. Oh my god, Peter–!”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Peter insisted. He scrambled to his feet, his phone and his mask clutched in one hand, and he clumsily shoved Ned back towards the door. “We can talk about this later, okay? I _promise_. But I can’t–”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ned asked, soft and uncertain, reaching out for Peter’s injured arm before he could stop himself. “It looks kind of bad–”

Peter hissed sharply, yanking back from his best friend’s prodding fingers, grimacing against the stinging pain Ned’s poking brought about.

“Gah! _Ned!”_

“Sorry, sorry!” Ned’s eyes went wide and he snatched his hand back. “Do you, um. Do you carry band-aids with you?”

Peter stared at him, incredulous.

“Do I – why would I carry band-aids?”

“Don’t you have, like, secret pockets? A utility belt? Maybe a–”

“Ned, man, this thing is skin-tight,” Peter hissed, gesturing wildly to his suit. “Utility belts aren’t aerodynamic.”

Ned’s mouth formed a silent “o” shape and he nodded, his eyes lighting up as though Peter had solved the mysteries of the universe. A low tingle at the base of Peter’s skull made him tense and he shot a look back over his shoulder. There was nobody there, but still...without a second thought he pulled his mask back on. The movement made his upper arm - his left arm - throb, and he clamped his free hand over the now-barely-bleeding wound.

His phone was still buzzing in his other hand, but he couldn’t deal with that right now.

“...listen, um…” Ned glanced back at the rooftop door, then flicked his gaze toward Peter’s arm. “...you should come inside, okay? I’ll - I’ll get you a bandage and some Neosporin before you go.”

“No, Ned, I can’t - I have to–”

“Peter, _please_.” Ned’s tone was insistent, pleading, and when Peter met his eyes he could see the worry in his best friend’s face. “You promised. You _promised_ that the next time you got hurt, you’d tell me, because we’re best friends and best friends look out for each other. _Right?_ ”

Peter was struck silent, his lenses widening with his eyes, and he winced. Right. The promise from the lunch room.

“I get that this is - like - it’s different,” Ned went on, “and it’s not what I expected when we made that promise, okay? You’re Spider-Man, and that’s awesome, and it’s _cool_ , and there was probably a super good reason why you couldn’t tell me, and I _get that_. Okay?” He looked mildly hurt for a fraction of a second, and if Peter hadn’t been expecting it he wouldn’t have caught it. Then Ned shrugged and he was back to looking sure of himself, if not a little worried. “But you were my friend before you were Spider-Man, and - and I’m still gonna keep that promise. So let me help? Please?”

Peter stood dumbstruck for a long moment, the sounds of the city a distant haze beneath the importance and the certainty of Ned’s words. He wasn’t sure how he got so lucky, but he probably had one of the best friends in the whole world.

“Okay,” Peter agreed finally, his words quiet. “Yeah, okay, I - thank you. Thanks, Ned.” The instant relief he saw in his friend brought a soft smile to his face. “You’re right. Best friends, right?”

He held out a hand, left it hanging in the air between them, momentarily uncertain about whether Ned would even reciprocate...but when Ned reached out to start their signature handshake a moment later, it was as smooth an exchange as ever.

“Best friends,” Ned grinned.

The patterns were permanently etched into their memories - they had been since elementary school - and Peter felt the last of his panic start to melt as they both finished off with a finger-gun. Yeah...he and Ned would be fine. He’d explain everything, be fully honest with him. His _best friend_ deserved that much and more.

“But, uh…” Peter glanced past Ned’s shoulder to the door. “...maybe I should come in through your window? So nobody sees me?”

“Ohhh, yeah, good point,” Ned nodded. He grinned. “Secret identity.”

“Right.” That, and it was definitely past his curfew at this point. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Leeds figuring out Peter was out way later than he was supposed to be, and that the reason _why_ was because he spent half his time moonlighting as a superhero.

Peter knew he had to tell May at some point, but he’d much rather she _not_ find out through his best friend’s mom.

Crawling back down the building was slightly easier than crawling up, mostly because Peter just lowered himself slowly onto Ned’s fire escape using a web. He tried to keep as much pressure off of his injured arm as he could. It wasn’t a bad wound, he reasoned as he crouched beside Ned’s bedroom window, but he hadn’t exactly been taking it easy since he had gotten it. By the time he was settled in Ned’s desk chair in the corner and Ned was sneaking off the steal away with the first aid kid, the cut was throbbing slightly. But that was normal, right? That was usually what happened when you decided to slice your skin open like an idiot. It was the body’s natural reaction to an open wound, the cells sending a message to the brain to say “ _Hey, uh, this dumbshit just hurt himself again. Do something about it._ ”

A faint buzzing drew Peter’s attention to the bed, where he had tossed his phone after slipping through Ned’s window with a little less grace than usual. Oh. Right. Wincing (and dreading the notifications that were awaiting him), Peter snatched his phone from the bedspread and let the screen light up.

  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
Bullshit. That "cut" ripped through the suit, kid.  
  
**Aunt Mayhem**  
Hey Peter! Just making sure you got home okay. Remember, I’m working a late shift tonight, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow.  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
If you’re taking a break, you can take a call.  
  
**Jedi Master Stark**  
Missed Call (2)  


Ignoring Mr. Stark for the time being, Peter opened up the text from May.

Aunt Mayhem  
  
**Today** 10:13 PM  
**Mayhem:** Hey Peter! Just making sure you got home okay. Remember, I’m working a late shift tonight, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow.  
  
**Peter:** I remember :) I actually lost track of time but I’m almost home. Five minutes tops  
  


With how often Peter had to lie to May, it felt kind of nice to let himself be honest with her for once. It was probably going to be a little more than five minutes, but he really _would_ be on his way home after he left Ned’s. He’d be home before eleven, no problem. He had just opened the messages from Mr. Stark to try and come up with some excuse for why he _definitely couldn’t call right this second, please wait until I’m home_ \- when Ned finally slipped back into the room.

“Okay, so, we actually had a roll of gauze or whatever,” Ned said as he dumped an armload of stuff on his bed. “But the only antibiotic stuff we had is in these little travel-sized pouches, so you might need a few of them. And we’ve got band-aids too if you want that instead. I hope you don’t mind having Captain America’s face on your arm.”

“I mean he punched me in the face a few weeks ago, but I don’t think it was personal.”

“He _what?!_ ”

Ned at least had the decency to keep his exclamation to a low hiss. Peter grinned a bit and chuckled under his breath. Now that some of the initial panic was over, it was kind of fun to see Ned fanboy a little...even if it _was_ over _him_.

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” he offered. He set his phone aside and tapped his palm to the emblem on his chest, letting the suit deflate and fall away from his torso. “Let’s just get this cleaned up so I can go home. May’s gonna _kill_ me if I’m out too late.”

“Yeahyeahyeah, of course.” Ned dug through the pile and pulled out a few individual packets of alcohol wipes. “Here, you can use these to wipe up the blood and stuff. I’ll let you do that part, but I can help wrap it once you’re done.”

“Thanks.” Peter took the packets with a grateful smile, ripping one open and tenderly wiping at his still-sore injury.

Ned looked on with a wince.

“Oh, wow. That looks kind of worse in the light.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“Sorry.” Ned sat on the end of his bed, closer to Peter, and held out the small trash can from the corner to take the empty packaging. “It’s kind of crazy that May lets you be Spider-Man when you can get hurt like this.”

“What? Are you _crazy?!”_ Peter yelped, his eyes bugging out of his skull. “May doesn’t know!”

“She doesn’t know??”

“ _Of course she doesn’t know!”_

“You’re serious?!” Ned looked absolutely astonished, staring at Peter as though he was insane. “How does she _not know?!_ ”

“Ned, _nobody_ knows,” Peter insisted, grimacing when his arm stung sharply beneath his hand. “ _Dammit_. Ned - listen,” he turned on his friend, who had gotten up from the bed to give Peter the little packets of triple-antibiotic, “you can’t tell _anybody_ about this. You’ve gotta keep it a secret.”

“A secret? _Why_? This is the coolest thing that’s ever _happened_ to me–”

“Why do you _think_?” Peter took two of the antibiotic packets and tore them both open at the same time, squeezing the goop onto his arm. He winced. “You know what May’s like! If she finds out people try and _kill_ me every single night, she’s not gonna let me do this anymore!”

He chucked the empty packets in the trash and locked Ned in place with a pleading look.

“C’mon, man, _please_ ,” he begged quietly. “This can’t get out, okay? I mean what if - what if the bad guys figure out who I am, and they come after me? Or what if they come after _her_? I can’t do that to her. Not after everything she’s been through. _Please_.”

Ned didn’t get the chance to respond right away. Across the room, Peter’s phone started ringing, and it was _definitely_ not on silent as it had been throughout his patrol. The song “Shoot to Thrill” by AC/DC blasted from its speaker, and even as Peter leapt forward to shut it off–

“ _Kid, answer you damn phone._ ”

The sound of Mr. Stark’s voice startled him and he almost dropped the phone. (It was only thanks to his sticky fingers that he didn’t.) He was fairly certain he _hadn’t_ answered the call...and he hadn’t put it on speaker. Peter stiffened, staring at the screen, his thumb hovering over the red ‘end’ button.

“ _If you can’t keep me updated when you’re on patrol, I’ll get your aunt involved._ ”

“WHAT?!” Peter spluttered, panic making his heart leap. This was exactly what he was trying to _avoid_ right now. “NO! No, Mr. Stark, I’m fine! I promise! I’m just - there’s a bit of a–“

“Is that Tony Stark?!” Ned asked, eyes wide with shock and awe.

“ _Shhh!”_ Peter hissed at him to shut up, praying that Mr. Stark hadn’t heard. But–

“... _Um, who’s that?_ ”

“N-Nobody!” Peter squeaked.

“Oh my god you’re talking to Ton– _mmph_!”

Peter clamped a hand over Ned’s mouth, glaring at his friend who _clearly_ hadn’t gotten the ‘shut up before you get me in trouble’ memo.

“ _Sorry, what did you just say?_ ” Mr. Stark asked.

“Nobody. It’s nobody.”

“ _Was that a lie? Did you just try to lie to me? See, ‘cause last time I checked, you’re not the one calling the shots here. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink that answer and try again?”_

“I-I’m sure. It’s nothing, just - just background noise.”

For a moment, there was silence. Peter held his breath, eyes locked with Ned’s as he held one hand over his friend’s mouth and the other aloft with the phone in his line of sight. _Please just drop it, please believe me, please don’t ask–_

After what seemed like an eon, he heard Mr. Stark hum disbelievingly over the line.

“... _yeah, okay._ ”

Before Peter could decipher that response, the call suddenly switched to video, revealing an irritated-looking Tony Stark in the middle of what looked like a _very_ nice living room. Peter froze, a deer in the headlights. Without looking he was already absolutely certain both he and Ned were clearly visible in frame based on the way his mentor’s expression changed from being annoyed to incredulous to absolutely _done_ in about two seconds flat.

“ _You’re shitting me._ ”

Peter shrank under Tony’s gaze, feeling much like he used to when Ben would scold him for sneaking the laptop into his room at night to watch movies under the covers as a kid.

“L-Listen, I didn’t mean to–“

“ _So when exactly were you planning on telling me you blew your cover, Parker?_ ”

“After I was done...you know...defusing the situation?” he tried.

Tony’s brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes at Ned.

“ _What is there to defuse? You read him the riot act, right?_ ”

“W-Well, yeah, kind of, but–”

“ _You’re Peter’s friend, right?_ ” Tony cut Peter off before he could even _begin_ to explain what had happened, and he reluctantly removed his hand from Ned’s mouth. “ _The pineapple pizza guy?”_

“Y-Yeah, that’s me!” Ned grinned, absolutely beaming at the prospect of Tony Stark knowing who he was.

“ _Alright, well, as Peter’s friend, I need you to make me a promise.”_

“Sure! Yeah! Yeah, I can do that, Mr. Stark, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes so hard Peter was sure they’d get stuck that way, and Peter almost missed the words that were muttered under his breath:

“ _Oh my god, there are two of them_.” Then Mr. Stark sighed and shook his head. “ _I’m gonna level with you, kid. If we don’t keep Pete’s whole Spider-Man thing under wraps, then it would mean hell for him and me both. And I’m not just saying that because I’ll be murdered by his scary hot aunt, which would also happen–_ ”

“M-Mr. _Stark!”_ Peter shrieked in a forced quiet voice, his face flushing at the nickname his mentor had used for May _in front of Ned_. Ned still looked a little too star-struck to pay much attention to Tony’s word choice...but _still_.

“– _hush, Underoos, the grown-up is talking._ ” Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow at him, leaving Peter to stammer in silence while he turned his attention back to Ned. “ _If his identity got out, it’d be trouble in more ways than I’d like to even begin to deal with. So promise me you’ll keep your trap shut. I don’t want to have to come after you with my legal team._ ”

Ned’s eyes widened, as did Peter’s - _Mr. Stark was taking his secret identity this seriously?! That’s insane!_ \- but Ned’s utter awestruck smile didn’t fade one bit.

“I promise Mr. Iron Man, sir!” he nodded rapidly, his head bobbing in the camera frame. “I super-promise. I won’t tell a soul.”

“ _You’re sure?”_ Tony pressed, raising an eyebrow at him on screen. “ _Because I need you to be sure. Peter needs you to be sure. Capiche?”_

“Capiche, yeah, totally, I promise, no problem–”

“He won’t tell anyone,” Peter cut off Ned’s train of chatter with a promise of his own and a pleading look in Ned’s direction. “It’ll be fine, Mr. Stark, really.”

 _Hopefully._ Peter knew first hand how hard it was for Ned to keep quiet when he got excited. Peter also knew that _Mr. Stark_ knew because Peter had mentioned it the day he had been brought up to the Avengers lab after Germany. At the time, Peter had been talking about how much he hated having to lie to his best friend, but right now he wasn’t so sure if Ned knowing the truth was a positive turn of events or a total disaster.

“ _Mhm. If you’re sure, kid.”_ Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes for a second or two, calculating, then sniffed and nodded. “ _In that case, let me get a look at that arm, Parker._ ”

Peter groaned and handed his phone to Ned, who held the camera at a good angle to see Peter’s injury. It had stopped bleeding already and was now reddened and slightly puffy, the triple-antibiotic making it look shiny and a little slimy. Mr. Stark sucked in a hissed breath.

“ _Christ, kid, you’ve only had the suit back for a week and you’re already–_ ”

“I disinfected it, okay?” Peter grumbled. “It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore, it’s already healing. I’ll wrap it up before I leave.”

“ _Yeah, okay. And how exactly did this happen?”_

Peter felt his face flush with color and he winced, refusing to look at the camera as he muttered:

“Swungintoafireescape.”

“ _Sorry, repeat that? Not all of us have super-hearing, Underoos._ ”

“I swung into a fire escape, okay?” Peter repeated, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I just got distracted.”

“ _Distracted enough to slice your arm open on a hunk of rusted metal?”_

Peter didn’t respond. He glanced sideways at the phone, where Mr. Stark was making a face at something off screen. Then the man’s attention returned to him.

“ _When you get here on Tuesday, I’m having FRIDAY take a look. Maybe even before then if your aunt will let me steal you away.”_

“Why? It’s nothing, it’ll be healed by then–”

“ _Because I get the feeling I know a lot more about medical treatment than you do. You got your tetanus shot when you were a kid, right?”_

“I…” Had he? Peter blanked, unsure. He knew he had gotten shots since being taken in by May and Ben, and May was a nurse...she was always on top of that kind of thing. But it had been a few years since then, and he couldn’t remember which ones he had checked off the list, and he always _hated_ getting shots, and the last time had been such a _nightmare–_

Peter paled and swallowed thickly, shrugging. It didn’t matter anyway, right? He had enhanced healing. He’d be fine.

“U-Uh, yeah? I think so?” he lied. (Was it a lie?) “May, um. M-May works at a hospital. She, um. She’s good with that. I should be all set.”

“ _Mhm. Right. Okay. That’s believable.”_ Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “ _I’ll check with Aunt Hottie about your medical records before Tuesday. If you haven’t had it, we’ll take care of it then. We’ve got medical staff at the tower.”_

“N-No!” Peter squeaked before he could catch himself, and he could feel Ned’s knowing look fall on him at the same time that Tony stared sharply through the screen. “No, it’s fine! I-I-I’ll just - I’ll a-ask May myself, okay? I’m fine. Honest. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I’ll just - ya know, I’ll just be more, um. More _careful_ , the next time cops are chasing after me–”

“ _What did you just say?_ ”

Mr. Stark’s sharp tone caught Peter by surprise and he trailed off, blinking owlishly at his mentor.

“...I’ll be more careful next time?”

“ _There were_ cops _after you?”_

“W-Well…” Peter folded his arms over his bare chest, feeling a little exposed all of a sudden beneath Mr. Stark’s almost dangerous glare. “...I mean, yeah? That’s never exactly happened before. But after I stopped a couple of thieves, an officer showed up, and the guy in his earpiece said to bring me in as a witness? Or something? But he also said he wanted to see who was under the mask, even though the chief or whoever seems to like what I do, and I didn’t exactly want them to know who I am so–”

“ _This night keeps getting better and better_ ,” Mr. Stark grumbled bitterly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a measured breath. “ _We’re going to talk about this more on Tuesday, Parker. Full debrief on what the hell happened tonight. Just - get the damn bandage on your arm and get home before your aunt finds out you’re out way past curfew. Or before your friend Ted’s parents figure out there are two people in his room instead of one, whichever comes first.”_

“Y-Yes, sir - uh, _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter quickly corrected himself, wincing at the long-suffering look Tony levelled him with. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“ _Text someone when you get home. I don’t care if it’s me, May, or your friend here. Just do it.”_

“Okay.”

Without waiting for any more of a reply, the call ended, and Peter was left staring at his phone wallpaper and the multitude of unchecked notifications he had littered across the many apps there.

“...dude.”

“What?” Peter glared half-heartedly at Ned, who was watching him with a strange look on his face.

“Tony Stark is like - your _boss_.”

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” Peter shrugged. He took his phone back from Ned and dropped it on the bed, reaching for the bandage roll instead. Ned took it from him automatically and pulled at the packaging, tearing open the plastic wrapper and looking for the loose end.

“Wait…” Ned scrunched up his nose once he found it. “How do you do this _and_ the Stark Internship?”

“Ned, this _is_ the Stark Internship,” Peter rolled his eyes. He sat down in the chair he had vacated during the call and held his arm out, waiting while Ned’s face lit up in comprehension for his friend to start bandaging his injury.

“Ahhh,” Ned grinned, tapping his nose. “I get it. So all that top secret stuff that you said was ‘ _in the lab_ ’–”

“Oh - no, that was real too,” Peter shook his head. He winced when Ned finally started wrapping the gauze around the cut. It would be a little tough to swing home tonight. “I go to the tower on, like, Tuesdays and Fridays after school now. But the rest of the week I’m actually on patrol. May thinks I’m at the tower almost every weekday after school - and after, you know, decathlon and stuff. Then on weekends I kind of have free reign except for movie nights, and we had that Harry Potter marathon last week so I wasn’t patrolling then–”

“Wait, is this why you told me you might quit band?” Ned asked, his brow furrowed.

“Sort of,” Peter winced. “Band is so early, and I’m trying to balance Spider-Man and homework and everything else. I need the sleep. Plus it _really_ hurts my ears now to be in close proximity with that many band instruments…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Peter chuckled sheepishly and reached for the roll of medical tape, handing it to Ned, who had just finished wrapping up his arm. “I’ve got, like, enhanced senses now. So I can hear stuff from _super_ far away...but I can’t really turn it off, so it’s just kind of _loud_ all the time.”

“Oh, _yikes_ man. That sucks.” Ned taped down the end of the bandage and stepped back, admiring his amateur handiwork. “I guess I always kind of thought having powers would be _really super awesome_.”

“It is!” Peter agreed, and he actually grinned. He started rambling, his hands moving with his words. “It’s _super_ awesome. I can, like, climb walls and stop cars and stuff, and I’ve got this sixth sense that’s _super_ cool because it warns me when danger’s coming, and I can hear stuff from really far away and I can see without my glasses now and I’ve even got super-healing–”

“You have _super-healing?!_ ” Ned gasped, and his eyes trailed back to Peter’s arm. “I thought I heard Iron Man say something like that, but I was also kind of busy freaking out, so...”

“Yeah! I do!” Peter had to admit, it was kind of nice to actually be able to talk to Ned about this. With Mr. Stark, he knew his mentor was already an Avenger and he probably saw stuff like this all the time. But Ned was geeking out with him just as much as (if not more than) Peter had when he first realized just how cool his abilities really were. “And it’s all pretty insane, honestly. But like I said...because my senses are off the charts now, it’s just really painful sometimes to be in rooms with constant loud noises.”

“Especially when that trumpet player in the second row is always flat?” Ned joked, grinning, and Peter stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, that too.”

Footsteps outside met Peter’s ears and he stilled, his smile fading and his eyes shifting to the door. Ned noticed and glanced in the same direction...though by his confused expression he probably couldn’t hear what Peter could.

“...I should go,” Peter whispered. He grabbed his suit from the floor and tugged it on, getting into it with practiced ease. (Literally. After accidentally setting off his web shooters _twice_ the first time he tried to put it on at the hotel in Germany, he had made a point to practice getting in and out of it once Mr. Stark had given it back to him a little over a week ago.) He hit the emblem on his chest, smirking slightly at the awed expression that lit up Ned’s face as he watched the suit shrink to fit his frame.

“That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

“I’ll let you take a look at it later, okay?” Peter offered, already tugging on his mask and glancing down at the sliced sleeve of his suit with a wince. He’d need to have Mr. Stark patch that soon. Crossing to the window on light feet and pushing up the glass, Peter slipped out onto the fire escape as quietly as he had climbed in.

Before he left, he turned back around and held out his hand.

“Best friends, right?”

Still looking a little awe-struck, Ned grinned and exchanged their handshake one last time.

“Right. Text me when you get home, okay Spider-Man?”

“Heh...yeah, okay,” Peter promised easily. His lenses squinted into a smile, Ned closed the window, and once he was sure he couldn’t hear sirens in the distance Peter took off into the night.

Time to go home.

* * *

Tony hung up the call with a long sigh, dragging both hands over his face and groaning into his palms.

_Jesus christ, this kid._

“That kid’s gonna be the death of me if I manage not to strangle him first,” Tony muttered, scrubbing at his eyes hard enough to see stars. When he pulled his hands away and blinked away the little spots in his vision, a perplexed-looking Pepper came into view. She had been sitting on the couch with him when he had gotten the notification about Peter’s injury and she hadn’t left through the entire call Tony had forced onto the kid.

Now, she was giving him a strange look, one that had Tony’s brow furrowing.

“What?”

“What was that?” Pepper asked, staring at him.

“What was what?” Tony gestured to the air beside him, where Peter’s face had been hovering a moment ago. “That? That was Peter Parker.”

“No, I know that,” Pepper sighed. She stood from the couch and approached him, shaking her head. “I kind of gathered that you were talking to Peter, Tony. I meant what was _that_ ,” she emphasized, gesturing to Tony himself in a wide sweeping hand motion. “What the hell was that? I’ve never seen you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like _that_. You, acting like a...a...I don’t know....” She snapped her fingers a few times, searching for the word– “...a helicopter parent.”

Tony’s eyes bugged out and he choked on air.

“A _what_?” he spluttered out, incredulous. She couldn’t be serious. ‘Tony Stark’ and ‘parent’ didn’t belong in the same sentence, not even in a metaphorical sense. Pepper, for some reason, seemed to disagree, because the next words out of her mouth were:

“You were mother-henning him, Tony.”

“No I wasn’t,” Tony protested immediately. He _wasn’t_. He sidestepped Pepper and brushed past her to the coffee table, where two glasses of wine and new drafts for the Accords were littered. He swept them aside in search of his tablet. Once he had located it and plucked the translucent screen from beneath Rhodey’s notes-covered copy of _Article II, Section IV, Paragraph 8_ , he turned to face Pepper again.

“It’s called being a responsible adult,” he insisted. He jabbed a pointed finger toward where the holoscreen from the phone call used to be. “I’m in charge of that kid whether I like it or not. I’ve got a responsibility to keep him safe, Pep. That’s all it is.”

_That’s ALL it was._

“Yeah. Okay.” Pepper seemed to roll her eyes at him with her words alone, and Tony squinted accusingly at her.

“I’m sorry, am I detecting sarcasm?” he asked. “Don’t try to use sarcasm on me. I invented sarcasm.”

“You’re deflecting.”

Tony’s jaw tensed and he locked his focus on the tablet in his hands. More for the need to do something with his hands rather than actually needing to read what was on it, he pulled up his most recent amendment notes and scanned through them, seeing but not reading the words on the screen. He could feel Pepper’s eyes on him and he feigned a sort of calm indifference. Not that she wouldn’t see right through it, but one could dream.

He wasn’t even quite certain why this particular thread of conversation was filling him with so much anxiety.

Tony heard Pepper sigh, accompanied by the quiet click of her heels. She stopped a foot or two away.

“Tony, look at me.” He did, albeit reluctantly. Pepper was giving him a knowing smile that he wasn’t sure he liked. “When you start asking him if he’s gotten his tetanus shot and scolding him for being out so close to curfew, I think you’ve gone a bit past just being responsible and keeping him safe.”

Tony blew out a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair, then let both arms flop against his sides in exasperated surrender.

“Pep, he told me he cut his arm open on a rusted railing, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Well when your friend Clint came in with an arrow through his leg, you told him to - and I quote - ‘put ice on it and walk it off’.”

Tony scoffed.

“Barton was being an idiot. Your point?”

“Tony–” Pepper folded her arms over her chest and shook her head, trying and failing to hide her grin now. “I’m not trying to make a point. I’m just saying it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you get this protective over somebody. The last time I can recall was when Happy was injured in that Extremis explosion, but this is different. Back then you were such a mess that you were acting recklessly. This is…” She searched his narrowed eyes for something - what, Tony couldn’t be sure - and evidently she found it because her smile softened. “...this is good. Whatever this is, I think it’s good for you.”

With that rather cryptic final word, Pepper squeezed Tony’s arm lightly and walked away, plucking her wine glass from the table as she did so.

“I’ll come back in the morning to finish our discussion,” she told him, gesturing to the rather disorganized papers in front of the couch. “My morning is clear until around one, so that should give us enough time to talk it over.”

Tony hummed noncommittal, still trying to decipher what exactly Pepper meant by ‘ _I think this is good for you_ ’.

“Oh, and let me know how that meeting with the Media Technology department goes,” she added, her purse and folders already in hand. She had placed her now-empty glass on the kitchen counter. “Marketing wants to roll out the final designs for the newest StarkPad by the end of the summer, so I’d love to get on top of that as soon as possible.”

“Anything for you, Miss Potts,” Tony quipped, tugging on a grin and dropping back into the present conversation. He could take a closer look at Parker’s suit diagnostics after she was gone.

...he wasn’t mother-henning, or whatever the hell Pepper seemed to think he was doing. It was part of his _job_. Keep an eye on the kid. He was like a glorified super-teen babysitter.

"I would say Marketing can kiss my ass,” Tony went on, dropping the tablet he was still fidgeting with onto the couch, “but I actually like that new guy you hired as the Marketing Head last year. He's surprisingly tolerable and he knows what he's talking about."

"Be nice, Tony," Pepper scolded. "Logan Croft isn’t one of the board members, he’s a competent and friendly employee. He may be a bit–”

“Robotic?” Tony tried, smirking, and Pepper shot him a glare.

“–less _expressive_ than most people you seem to befriend down in the mad science labs, but he’s smart as a whip and he’s more polite than most of the other applicants were. He doesn’t deserve your ire.”

“Alright, _alright_ ,” Tony waved her away. “We can schedule a meeting with Croft and the rest of Marketing as soon as Media-Tech updates me on their progress.”

“Perfect.” Pepper turned at the elevator, smiling in Tony’s direction while she waited for the doors to open. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark.”

Tony returned her smile.

“Good night, Miss Potts.”

Tony, of course, wasn’t planning on actually going to bed yet. Any time before midnight was too early for sleep by his standards, and as it stood he still had a call to make and diagnostics to check before he even thought about turning in. He waited until he was settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the kitchen outside his lab before asking Friday to call up the Barton residence.

“ _Hello?”_

It was Laura Barton’s voice that came over the speakers, which didn’t come as a surprise to Tony. Technically Clint and Lang weren’t supposed to be there, so why would they answer the phone?

“Mrs. Barton,” Tony greeted, aiming for warmth and praying he didn’t fall short. “Evening. Sorry if I’m interrupting family time. It’s Tony, by the way.”

“ _Tony Stark himself,_ ” Laura replied. It didn’t escape his notice that her voice was tight and wary. “ _I wish I could say I’m surprised. If you’re looking for my husband, you won’t find him here._ ”

“Funny, that’s not what Steve Rogers told me,” Tony returned dryly. He sighed and clasped his hands together, massaging his left palm. “Mrs. Barton, if you want to keep feigning ignorance, be my guest. You want to keep him safe? Alright, sure, I’ll play along.” He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, his hands still wringing before him. “But, uh. If you don’t mind...I’ve got a message for Clint, if he happens to wander into your part of the world.”

“ _...oh?”_ Tony heard the clink of a dish, the running of water. “ _I can’t promise he’ll get it, but sure. Try me._ ”

“Tell him I’m trying to get him pardoned, both him and Scott Lang. And that I’d love his input on amending the, uh...the Sokovia Accords. You know, the ones keeping him on the run?”

Laura fell silent on the other end of the line, the only sounds coming over the speakers being those of dishes being set down and water running continuously in the background. After a moment, the water stopped. Tony heard Laura let out a breath.

“ _Pardoned, huh?”_ she asked, and Tony could hear the wary hope in her words. “ _Coming from the man who put him away?”_

Against his better judgement, he bristled, his jaw tensing.

“I didn’t _want_ them to be–!” He cut himself off, forced himself to take a breath. Laura Barton didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his irritation, not when most of it was brought on by Steve Rogers and Thaddeus Ross. “I’m trying to fix things. Clint was retired before all of this happened, and he doesn’t deserve to be marked as a fugitive for stepping out of retirement to try and help people who - I’m guessing - he considers family. In all honesty...they’re, uh.” He swallowed. “They’re my family too. Or they were, before this bullshit with the Sokovia Accords tore everyone apart. I just want that back. I want to _fix_ it.” Silence. Tony shifted in his seat, leaning back and sinking so his head was resting against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes, his expression strained. “Mrs. Barton - Laura - you deserve to have your husband back home without the weight of the law pressing down on you both. I imagine he still hates me right now - I would too, in his position - but, hell, even if this doesn’t turn out as some kind of Avengers Family Reunion, I still want to help him. And if you won’t do it for Clint’s sake, and if you think keeping him in hiding is the safer option, sure. Choose that. Pick that option. I can’t stop you. But the next time you see Clint, ask him about Scott Lang. I’m pretty sure Scott has a daughter of his own back home who’s missing him very much. Cassie, I think her name is–”

“ _Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t you, Stark?”_

The voice of none other than Clint Barton came across the speakers, and Tony’s eyes flew open.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

“ _I know we’re at odds right now, but that’s a bit harsh._ ”

Clint’s voice had a bite to it, a cold kind of judgemental tone, one with a touch of distrust and quiet bitter resentment trickling through it that had Tony flinching. Perhaps he deserved that.

“Turn of phrase, Barton,” he murmured. Then: “Can I assume you’ve been listening this whole time, or should I start from the beginning?”

“ _Nah, I’ve been here for most of it. Plus I’m not in the mood for another monologue from Tony “I’m-Smarter-Than-You” Stark–”_

“ _Clint, behave,_ ” Laura’s voice cut in from the background, and Tony found himself gaining a newfound appreciation for Clint’s wife.

“ _...yes, dear._ ”

Tony rubbed a hand across his forehead, irritation making his eye twitch. At least it was going better than his call with Rogers. So far.

“I meant it when I said I’m working towards getting you and Scott Lang pardoned,” he said, willing the words to sound a little more level than his last ones. “I’m trying to fix things.”

“ _With an ulterior motive?_ ” Clint asked. Tony noticed he, too, was at least making an effort to play nice. “ _You also mentioned wanting my help with amending the Sokovia Accords?”_

“That too,” Tony admitted. “But even if you said no, I’d still fight for pardons.”

“ _Guilty conscience?_ ”

“Maybe.” Tony stood from his seat, needing to move, needing to expel the pent-up energy crawling beneath his skin. He crossed to the bar portion of the kitchen and reached for a rather expensive bottle of single-malt scotch, pouring a generous amount into a lowball glass over ice. “A part of me just wants you to be able to clear your names. But I also just want my family back, so hey, call me selfish. You wouldn’t be wrong.”

“ _Sometimes the right choice can be the selfish one too._ ”

Tony allowed himself a tight smile.

“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugged, replacing the bottle where he had found it. “You chose to retire so you could spend more time with your family. Selfish, sure, but who’s to say that was the wrong choice to make?”

“ _The only selfish part was me not wanting to get castrated by Laura for missing another birthday,_ ” Clint told him. It took Tony a moment to realize the man was joking, that the air of the conversation was considerably lighter than it had been moments before. As he took a drink, he heard Laura Barton laugh somewhere in the room Clint was in, and Clint chuckled too. She made some comment Tony couldn’t quite make out. “ _Yeah, yeah, I know,”_ Clint responded to her. “ _You were a pretty damn good argument all by yourself._ ”

“Not to interrupt you sickeningly adorable flirting,” Tony drawled, smirking, “but do you have a minute to talk this over? And is Lang anywhere nearby? I want to hear from Stuart Little too.”

“ _Yeah, we can chat. I’m trusting you enough to believe you won’t go running off to the UN if we disagree with you. Don’t make me regret that._ ”

“I wouldn’t dream of putting your family through that,” Tony said. He was almost surprised by how genuine his own words were.

“ _Thanks_.” Clint went quiet, Laura’s voice distant and indecipherable in the background. “ _It’s almost ten here in Missouri. Give me fifteen minutes to put the kids to bed, alright? Then we can talk._ ”

By the time Clint was calling him back, Tony was nursing his half-finished glass of scotch in the comfort of his lab, a holographic model of Peter’s Spider-Man suit hovering in the air above his workbench. Tony’s eyes lingered on the damaged material on the left sleeve for a long moment before dismissing it with a swipe of his hand and answering the call. He smiled when the call came in as a video, Clint’s face appearing where Peter’s suit had been.

“Barton,” Tony greeted him. “Good to see you. How are things in Casa de la Hawk?”

Clint huffed, a quiet half-humorless laugh. He was in the living room - Tony recognized the olive-green wallpaper - and as Tony watched he sank onto the sofa with a half-tired groan.

“ _Well it’d be better if I didn’t feel the need to look over my shoulder every five minutes._ ”

“I can imagine,” Tony mused. He folded his arms over his chest and strolled away from the workbench to grab his tablet, trusting FRIDAY to keep him in frame. “That’s what I’m working to fix.”

“ _Can you fix things with Laura too while you’re at it?_ ”

“Trouble in paradise?” he quirked an eyebrow. Tony noted the amused tone in Clint’s voice as he returned to the holo-screen.

“ _Something like that,_ ” Clint shrugged with a weary smile.

“And here I thought you and the wife were playing house like usual.”

“ _Well, it’s almost back to normal,_ ” Clint conceded, scratching at the back of his head. “ _But she wasn’t too happy I abandoned water-skiing in favor of breaking the law, getting imprisoned, and going on the run._ ”

Tony snorted, smirking, and plucked his glass of scotch from the workbench.

“I take it she banished you to the couch?”

“ _Try the barn,_ ” Clint said flatly. Tony winced.

“Oh, ouch.”

“ _Yeah, ouch._ ” The archer rolled his eyes. “ _You try sleeping on hay bales for almost a week and see how your back feels. I made it to the guest room last weekend though._ ”

“Hey, progress,” Tony told him brightly, raising his glass in a mock toast. He took a sip, then grinned. “At this rate you’ll be back in the master bedroom by next Tuesday.”

“ _Yeah, yeah_ ,” Clint shook his head with a wry smile. “ _One can hope._ ” He glanced away from the camera, and in the background Tony heard the sound of a door opening and closing. “ _There you are. Stark’s on the line already._ ”

“ _Oh, good! Cool!”_ an eager voice cropped up, and it didn’t take much for Tony to come to the conclusion that it was Scott Lang. He set aside his drink and began to draw up documents on his tablet. “ _I didn’t miss too much, right?”_

“Nothing yet,” Tony told the disembodied voice. “Just catching up a bit.”

The view shifted. Tony saw the newcomer drop onto the couch in the periphery of the camera, and Clint tilted his phone sideways so they both could fit into view. Scott Lang himself grinned and waved, looking chipper as all hell to be there.

“ _Iron Man! Hi!”_ he said brightly. “ _Or do you prefer Tony? Or - sorry - Mr. Stark?”_

“Oh _please_ don’t cling to honorifics,” Tony muttered. He grimaced, his fingers hovering above the original Accords file on his screen, and he shot Scott a look. “I get called ‘Mr. Stark’ enough by my intern to last me a lifetime. Just Tony is fine. If I can’t get _him_ to do it, I’ll settle for you in the meantime.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Scott nodded. “ _Got it. Can do._ ”

“ _Since when did you get an intern?”_ Clint asked, eyeing Tony curiously through the screen. “ _I thought you hated having other people in your lab._ ”

“You know, normally I’d agree with you, but the kid’s a damn genius and he’s actually pleasant company.” Tony rolled his eyes, smiling. “He’s like a goddamn puppy dog. I don’t think _anyone_ could dislike him. He’s on my shitlist right now, but I imagine he won’t be there for long.” Then he trailed off, realizing he had been saying more about Peter than he ever planned on sharing with his teammates. Not so soon, anyhow. He cleared his throat and schooled his expression. “You’d agree with me if you met him, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t call to talk about my intern.”

“ _Right, yeah,_ ” Scott nodded. “ _Clint said you were trying to get us pardoned? Which, I’ve gotta say, I appreciate more than you know._ ”

“That’s the plan.” Tony pulled up both the original copy of the Sokovia Accords and the most recent draft of amendments he, Rhodey, and Pepper had been working on...everything except the notes from tonight, seeing as those had yet to be finalized into a non-scribble form. “But whether I can manage it or not will depend on a few things.”

“ _Like?”_ Clint asked.

“Like whether I can convince the UN that your involvement in this shitstorm was minimal enough to be considered forgivable.” Tony raised his eyes from his tablet to glance at the pair sitting on the Bartons’ couch. “For starters, exactly how much did you know about the Sokovia Accords before joining Rogers’ fight?”

“ _Uhhh…_ ” Scott exchanged a look with Clint, who reached forward and set his phone down, propping it against something on the table in front of him so his hands were free. Scott went on: “ _Not that much? I knew about the bombing at the signing, and I knew it was a big deal, but I got recruited to help Cap take down a terrorist. I didn’t really have a reason to look into the Accords stuff yet. I kind of wish I had though._ ”

“ _I’d heard about ‘em at least,_ ” Clint nodded slowly. “ _I knew it had something to do with the Avengers, and even though I was retired I figured I should take a look. I can’t say I ever read them properly though. Steve gave me the rundown on the laws they were trying to implement for enhanced folks, and I was smart enough to see how something like that could negatively affect Wanda and Steve and even Bruce, if he ever comes back.”_ The archer rubbed his palms together, then laced his fingers and clenched his hands. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his face closer to the camera. _“I told Steve this, but half the reason I helped Wanda leave was because I owed a debt. Her brother saved my life...and I figure, I owe it to him to make sure his sister gets the life they both deserved to live._ ”

“She doesn’t deserve what Ross did to her, that’s for sure,” Tony agreed, guilt bubbling in his gut. He swallowed it down. “Alright. That’s something. Neither of you had full knowledge of the Accords, nor did you sign them, so technically - legally - imprisoning you both against your will like that was completely out of line. The Accords themselves hadn’t even been finalized at that point. Plus your involvement was minimal, and even you - Clint - breaking Wanda out of the Avengers Compound technically wasn’t against any laws. She wasn’t being held there for legal reasons, so that’s the equivalent of you inviting a friend out to lunch even though their roommate didn’t want you to.”

Clint snorted and rolled his eyes.

“ _Yeah, sure,_ ” he chuckled. “ _Okay._ ”

“The only issue I can foresee,” Tony went on, now pacing back and forth in a lazy line in front of his workbench, “is that the UN might ask you both to sign the Sokovia Accords to earn your freedom. And in their current state, they’re a bit–”

“ _Disgusting?”_ Clint drawled, and Tony shrugged.

“I was going to say ‘inhumane’, but yeah, that too.”

“ _So, amendments,_ ” Clint nodded. He looked to Scott. “ _Tony told Laura and I he wanted our help amending the Accords. If we’re willing anyway._ ”

“ _Wait, really? Me too?”_ Scott asked, his brow furrowed. He glanced between Clint and Tony with a weak chuckle. “ _I’m not sure I should be in on that. I’m not an Avenger. I’m not a part of this whole thing. And I’m really not a legal jargon type guy._ ”

“If you want to opt out, just say the word,” Tony told him. “You’re right, you’re not an Avenger. But seeing as I have a sneaking suspicion that ol’ Rossy-boy doesn’t give a damn about whether you’re on the official roster or not, I get the feeling it’s gonna apply to every person you’d consider a ‘superhero’ soon enough.”

 _Even Peter,_ Tony reminded himself, _as much as I wish that weren’t true._ He stifled a wince.

“I’m looking to hear from every voice I can,” Tony continued, shaking Peter Parker from his thoughts. “This thing is going to affect everyone, not just me, so I can’t be the only person ensuring that it’s fair to all of us. Pepper has been helping me, along with the Stark Industries legal team, and Rhodey chimes in during meetings as well. I’d love to have anyone we can on this committee. The more people who back this thing, the better, especially if we’re planning on pushing this past Thaddeus Ross.”

The call was quiet for a moment or two. Tony’s feet stilled and he turned to the screen, watching Clint and Scott exchange a look.

“ _You’re putting a lot of thought into this, aren’t you_?” Clint asked, eyeing him thoughtfully. “ _What happened to you signing the Accords first and vouching for them at every turn?_ ”

“I always thought we needed accountability,” Tony shrugged. He pocketed one hand and planted his feet, the tablet hanging at his side. “I was playing the long game. It’s politics. Maybe I could have been up front about it with the team, but it seemed like the obvious play. I couldn’t have been the only one to see that. Approve it from the beginning, play nice, gain favor with the people who matter...and when the time comes to make necessary changes, you’ll have more people in government on your side.”

“ _You never made that clear to Steve, did you?”_

“Ah–” He cleared his throat, a by-now-familiar tightness building in his chest. “...no, not clear enough,” he muttered. “We were almost at a compromise shortly before the mess at the airport, but - well. I hadn’t, uh…”

_He hadn’t met Peter yet. He hadn’t understood yet. He hadn’t realized the severity of the restrictions on enhanced beings yet. He hadn’t **gotten it** yet...until Peter._

“...I realized he was right about a few things a little too late, and he was refusing to listen.”

“ _From what I heard, you weren’t doing a great job of listening either, Tony._ ”

And, god, wasn’t that the truth? Tony took a slow breath, his chest tight, his jaw tense.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he deflected with a sniff. “Are you in? I can send a copy of the original and the latest drafts to you, under a dummy email.”

“ _...yeah, okay_ ,” Clint sighed. “ _You’ve got Laura’s on file, right? Go ahead and send ‘em there._ ”

“Fantastic.” Tony locked his focus on the tablet, not meeting Clint’s eyes, renaming and attaching and sending what was needed, all with the feeling that _Clint knew full well that Tony was deflecting_ trickling down the back of his neck. He sniffed again, wiping the tablet clean with a well-practiced hand motion.

“Alright. It should show up as some sort of spam ad for Shrinky Dinks and Nerf Guns...you know, for the kids.” Tony forced a smirk and winked at Ant-Man and Hawkeye through the screen. “Seemed fitting.”

“ _I’m beginning to think you guys like nicknames,_ ” Scott told them both. “ _Is that, like, an Avengers thing? Or…?_ ”

“ _Nah, that’s mostly a Tony thing_ ,” Clint snorted. “ _And Steve’s new friend Wilson apparently. And that Spider-Guy, from what I’ve heard of him._ ”

“No no, the Spider-Kid’s more into pop-culture references,” Tony groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t even get me started.”

“ _I feel like he and I would get along just fine,_ ” Clint grinned, chuckling, and Scott laughed beside him.

“Unless I get you two off the hook, you won’t be meeting him anytime soon,” Tony pointed out with a smirk. “I think we’re done here. I’ll keep you in the loop, and you two just let me know if you’re interested in helping Pepper and Rhodey and I out with amendments. Alright?”

“ _Sure thing, Tony_ ,” Scott nodded, and - _for god’s sake_ \- he gave Tony a two-fingered salute before Clint picked up his phone and wandered away from the couch.

“ _He’s overeager_ ,” Clint said apologetically once he was out of the room. Then, smiling: “ _Once he gets used to you, the fanboy antics dial down a lot. I’m speaking from experience._ ”

“Oh thank god,” Tony rolled his eyes with an amused smile. “There’s only one excitable fanboy I can handle in my life and that slot’s already filled.”

“ _That mystery intern of yours?_ ” Clint hazarded a guess, hitting the nail right on the head.

“Got it in one,” he shook his head. “He’s not that bad, really, but sometimes he gets so nervous or excited I think he might just pass out. I swear I’m not going to be liable for whatever concussion he gives himself if that happens.”

“ _I’m sure you have more than enough money to cover the legal fees, Stark_ ,” Clint joked, and Tony flashed him a cocky grin.

“Damn right I do.”

A comfortable silence fell over the call. Tony plucked his glass from the workbench and swirled it in his hand, revelling in the fact that calling Clint had gone far better than his call with Rogers. Not even a month had passed since the whole debacle with the Accords - which the media have taken to calling the “Avengers Civil War”, something which Tony was greatly annoyed by but could do nothing about - and in that time, Tony had been so certain he had lost the family he had found in his team. He had hoped, of course, that he could fix things. But Tony was no stranger to losing families, and he had already resigned himself to the fact that there might not be a chance for repairing what was broken. With Clint and Laura’s almost easy acceptance of his help, and with the ease with which he and Clint had fallen back into their old friendly banter, perhaps not all was lost as he had feared. And perhaps, with Clint’s help, they could reach out to Natasha next...and maybe they could make it safe enough for Vision to find Wanda and bring her home. But it all had to start somewhere, and it seemed as though it was starting fairly well with the Bartons.

Tony opened his mouth to say something - maybe to reassure that he would do what he could, maybe to thank Clint for trusting him - but Clint beat him to it.

“ _Thank you, Tony,_ ” he said, his words thick with a genuine emotion that Tony wasn’t sure he was experienced enough to name. Gratitude, perhaps? But it was more than that, if the shine in Clint’s eyes was anything to go by. “ _Really...thanks, man. You didn’t have to help us, but the fact that you are...it means a lot._ ”

Tony blinked, swallowed, a warm feeling in his chest.

“What happened to blaming it on my guilty conscience?” he quipped, not sure how else to respond...but Clint seemed to understand what he meant. He laughed softly, warmly, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

 _“Hey, I never said that wasn’t part of it,_ ” he chuckled. “ _But really. Thank you. If this means I get to return to my family a free man, that’s worth more than anything to me._ ”

“I’m…” Tony nodded slowly, then smiled. When he spoke again his words were more confident. “I’m happy to help. In any way I can.”

“ _The funny thing is, I actually believe you._ ”

When the pair said their goodbyes a few minutes later and silence fell in the lab, it wasn’t the cold, empty, unwelcome thing that Tony found himself staving off most nights after Peter went home or after Pepper went to bed. It was a comfortable quiet, a warm and welcome sort of peace that Tony hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Logically he was aware that he still had a lot of work to do and a long way to go before he reached the tunnel’s end, but it was as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders - from his _chest_. Things were beginning to repair themselves. He didn’t feel as lost as he had been as of late. For the first time since the chill of Siberia found its place in his bones, Tony felt the ice in his soul begin to melt.

Or maybe it had begun to melt already and he was only now noticing it.

‘ _Whatever this is, I think it’s good for you._ ’

Either way, it was a nice feeling.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Tony let out a quiet breath and sank into the wheeled chair he had shoved away from his workbench, rolling himself over to sit in the place he had been standing before. He brought the remains of his drink to his lips...but something in him made his hand freeze before it got there. It felt wrong, almost, to be sipping down alcohol while working on a project for the kid. With a huff he set the glass aside and pushed it away. There wasn’t much left anyhow...

“FRIDAY, pull up the diagnostics for Peter’s suit again,” he muttered. “I want to take one more look at that tear in the fabric before I go to bed.”

“ _Of course, Boss. Would you like me to pull up the schematic for comparison?”_

“Yeah, might as well.” He watched with calculating eyes as two near-identical holographic models of the Spider-Man suit sprang to life in the air above the workbench. Focussing in on the red-marked area showing the damage that had been inflicted on Peter’s left sleeve - left _arm_ \- he hummed softly. “Bring up the file on flexible kevlar-inspired materials I was working on two weeks ago. I’d like to take a look at upgrading the fabric again tomorrow, don’t let me forget.”

“ _I’ll be sure to remind you. Are you planning on rebuilding an identical model for Mr. Parker? Or shall I wait to start reconstruction?”_

“Wait on that, FRI. I might make another upgrade before I gift him with a new one.”

Though a small part of him wondered if putting in this much effort was even worth it, the greater part of his thoughts were fixated on finding ways to lessen the chances of this happening again. It was his job to keep the kid safe. (That’s all it was. A job.)

“Oh, and FRI?”

“ _Boss?”_

“Remind me to call May Parker tomorrow. I want to make sure the kid’s medical records are all up to date.”

Just a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer than most chapters, mostly due to the fact that I got stuck TWICE while writing it. Sorry for that! Writer's block is the worst!
> 
> So Ned knows! And unlike most fics, I'm planning on portraying him like the proper best friend he is. Yeah, he wishes he could brag about being best friends with Spider-Man, but Peter's safety and wellbeing comes first...something which he's already displaying before he promises to keep Peter's secret, seeing as his first worry was making sure Peter's arm was taken care of before he left.
> 
> I also got to lay the foundations for what will (later on) become the awesome friendship between Tony and Clint, something which was already kind of there but will be stronger than ever in this fic. You'll see why later, but this is an important first step to fixing everything that the whole Civil War fiasco left everyone with.
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Anya - my beta reader, idea bouncer, and fellow Iron Dad fan lol - for being my cheerleader and also providing me with a few FANTASTIC lines of dialogue. Both Tony's comment to Peter: “Was that a lie? Did you just try to lie to me? See, ‘cause last time I checked, you’re not the one calling the shots here. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink that answer and try again?” and a few of Pepper's comments to Tony: “You were mother-henning him, Tony.” and “Pep, he told me he cut his arm open on a rusted railing, what else was I supposed to do?" were completely of her invention. So thank you friendo! ^^
> 
> And, as I've said before, comments are ALWAYS welcome! Even if I don't always respond, I get way too excited and grateful when a new comment pops up in my email notifications. To those of you who have taken the time to leave paragraph-long responses, I adore you more than you could possibly know.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the MCU, and it's been pretty fun learning how to write Tony, Peter, and other members of the MASSIVE cast of characters this universe contains. Here's hoping you guys enjoy it as much as I have been! I have a few other Iron Dad and Spider-Son stories on the agenda, one of which I hope to finish soon since it's a (rather long, oops) one shot. The title is a work in progress, so let me know if you think something better would word!
> 
> I'm also considering "Coincidental Impossibilities", "Statistical Improbability", "Strangely Familiar", and "The Webs We Weave"...though I think that last one might go to a DIFFERENT Iron Dad fic I might write later on. ;)
> 
> Anyway! Hope you enjoyed what I've written so far, and comments are always welcome and encouraged! It lets me know how people actually feel the story is going!
> 
> ~ Pixie


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